“It isn’t being entitled; it is being responsible. Because someone has to, when our summoner is throwing her health around like a flame in a windstorm.” Elespeth spoke firmly, not only to Hadwin, but to Teselin, as well. She sighed, and knelt to meet the confused girl’s dark eyes. They betrayed her exhaustion with equally dark circles beneath them. “Look… I know how I am coming across. I realize you probably think that I have been discouraging you since the day you arrived. And… maybe, there is some truth to that. But I happened to have… well, I had a younger sister, myself. I don’t know if she would talk to me, today, but when she was your age, I remember looking out for her as well. And, often, she hated me for it, but it always meant that she was safe. And that is what I want for you, as well; to be safe. To be well, Teselin. And… so would your brother. You know that to be true.”
Teselin’s remained staring at the ground, looking a bit like a petulant child, at first, but her expression softened ever so slightly at Elespeth’s words. She wasn’t angry that the former knight was so bossy by nature; she was angry that she was right. The young summoner had survived a good deal of hardships, in the past, some which perhaps she hadn’t had a right to survive. It was enough to give anyone the delusion that they might, in fact, be invincible. Nothing, none of her foolish feats up until now had killed her. But… that did not mean it couldn’t change. That her luck might not take a turn for the worst. And, in any case, if she wanted to summon this tidal wave in just days’ time… she needed to be standing.
“Must you tell Alster that we spoke?” She asked at last, but Elespeth was already well out of earshot. The young summoner sighed and looked down at the plate of food Hadwin had given her, knowing that if she dug deep enough, she would find the hunger to put a good dent in that meal. It was really just a matter of having the motivation to do so. “...I know she is right. It just feels as though it is all a waste of time--this, rest and recuperation. I could be doing something. I could be getting a better grip of my magic… but that won’t happen if I burn out my flames before I get there.”
With a heavy sigh, Teselin forced herself to sit upright on her own, and picked up the fork sitting on the plate. It felt uncharacteristically heavy. “Is this what it is like for someone to care for you?” She asked softly, picking up a piece of meat on the fork. “I don’t personally know what it is like. My mother was absent, my brothers, all gone as I grew up. I just always assumed it meant people would be kind to you, but… but I think I understand, why she is the way she is. It irks me that she obviously doesn’t think I am capable of making sound decisions, but I haven’t exactly given her a reason to think so, have I?” She shook her head, popping the meat into her mouth and chewed slowly. The flavour alone began to awaken that repressed appetite deep within her. “To be honest, I am not sure how far Alster will be able to help me. His guidance is valuable, but our magic… it stems from different places. It pulls at different things. But if it can give me a head start on beginning to understand any of this, then my brother will have to take me seriously when I see him. And if playing Elespeth’s game will keep me in Alster’s good graces… then I will play.”
To prove her point, she took another bite from her plate of food, and another after that. He was right; her stomach was roaring with hunger, and all of a sudden, she believed she might just be able to finish the plate. That is, if she could keep her eyes open long enough for it. “...I’m going to try to finish this, but if I can’t… please don’t tell Elespeth.”
In all honesty, Elespeth wasn’t sure that Alster would be open to speaking, at all; and she mentally prepared herself for that. To be pushed away, in favor of space and time to himself. But the Rigas caster obliged her, in the end, and made room on the bench for her to sit. It was obvious by his slouched form that he had been sitting there for quite a while, already. “I’d appreciate your support, in that. I think that you and the wolf-man are the only people who have a ghost of a chance of getting through to her. She is stubborn to her own detriment.” The warrior forced a smile, but it did not sit well on her face. Not with the tension that hung in the air.
Alster’s confession left an uneasy tightness in her chest, dispelling all of the denial she had worked to nurture that day. She loved him; she did not want to think that he could do wrong onto someone like Teselin, who trusted him so implicitly. To hear it straight from his lips, that he had employed methods in his training that did not necessarily have the young summoner’s best interests in mind… Needless to say, it left her feeling more than a little bit confused and uncomfortable. But she heard him out, each and every word, because she wanted to understand… so badly, she wanted to understand, in hopes that there was yet a reasonable and rational explanation for this.
There wasn’t. Not beyond worry for time, and how much they could get done, and it left Elespeth feeling… uncertain. And afraid.
“I understand why you felt the need to push her.” She began, her words slow and sluggish as she chose them, without fully knowing what it was she meant to say. “Right now… so much depends on everything going precisely as planned. Everything has to be in place, and everyone has to play their part. Teselin has opted to perform a very delicate operation, and while it might not be essential… who knows? Depleting Mollengard’s naval militia might be the straw that weighs the ultimate outcome in our favor.” The Atvanian warrior turned her green gaze to the tips of her boots, not sure she could meet Alster’s eyes just yet. “I know you meant well. Teselin is obstinate and determined, and I guarantee that she will not tell you when she is feeling unwell… which makes it all the more imperative that we are observant to it. You, especially, if you’ll be working closely with her. Make sure she eats and rests, because she doesn’t have the good sense to do it on her own…”
Elespeth ran a hand through her chestnut hair, which tangled through her fingers, wavy and unruly, free from it’s braid. “Even in times like these, Alster… even in hard times, there is always room and always a necessity for softness. When the world shows us no mercy, we can still be there to show mercy to one another. We need it, or where else where will we find reprieve?” Finally mustering the courage that had eluded her, the Atvanian knight met the eyes of her betrothed. Witnessed the sadness, the guilt, and the fear in them, and… something else. Something she wasn’t certain could be attributed to Alster, in and of himself, but with this new onslaught of a foreign consciousness on his mind… who knew?
“Alster… there will always be a need, in this world, for the man I fell in love with.” She rested a hand atop of his own flesh and blood appendage. “Having power and responsibility does not mean that you must let the world turn you hard. Of course, there is always a time and place for a softer heart; we cannot wear it on our sleeve if we expect to be hurt. But I… if you think that you need to change, under these new circumstances, then I am going to tell you that you are wrong. You don’t need to change; and I don’t want you to. Not… irreversibly.”
Elespeth squeezed his hand gently. “I love the Alster Rigas I met at Messino’s encampment. And if he has changed… so long as it is still Alster Rigas I am looking at, and so long as it is still Alster Rigas governing this body, of course I will love you. I extended my life to be with you, took your name… there is no going back for me, now. I have no home and no family to whom I can safely return. So I will love you in any way, shape, or form you choose to show to me. But I hope… I would hope that the Alster I first met does not fade away and not return. If…” She worried her bottom lip. “If that is possible, for you… you know that I will accept you in any way that you choose to be, but do not feel the need to harden simply because times are hard. I still need the soft Alster I fell in love with. That was the Alster who helped me through my grief, when I lost my brother. I don’t know where I would be, now, were it not for his kindness.”
Swallowing her emotions before she choked on them, Elespeth stood, and brushed imaginary dirt from her tunic. “We all navigate war and trying times differently. What is important is that you do what you feel is best for you… and for the people you care about. Don’t be afraid to reach out for help. Don’t be afraid to be soft; if we don’t have our hearts… then what do we really carry with us, through war in strife? What, then, is worth fighting for?”
She turned her face to the darkening sky. There wasn’t likely to be much food left, by this time of evening; it didn’t matter. Her appetite had dwindled significantly since Alster stormed out of the room. “You should come inside, soon. It gets cold when the sun sets.” Elespeth didn’t say any more, feeling depleted of words and feelings for the time being. Affected by the chill of evening, herself, with her hair still damp from a hasty bath, she headed back towards Chara’s villa, her footfalls slower and heavier than usual.
Sigrid didn’t know what she was thinking, deciding to dress up for what was supposed to be a casual evening. But after she bathed, scrubbed her skin and her hair clean of the day’s rigorous training, the Dawn warrior had spent well over an hour in just deciding what to wear. The worst part was, it wasn’t as though she even had much of a selection in terms of attire. Aside from her indigo Dawn Guard tunic, everything else was borrowed, and somewhat ill-fitting, considering she was taller than more D’Marian women, yet still smaller than any men. She must had looked at herself in the mirror for a good hour before she decided that her plain indigo garb fit better, and therefore, looked better than any of her D’Marian borrowed pieces. Along with the lengthy blonde rope-braid that had become second nature to weave, in the end, she looked the same as she did every day, for a woman whom she wanted nothing more but to impress. Hopefully… it would be enough.
Bless her heart, Naimah was there, waiting for her at an agreed upon spot. All evening, Sigrid had anticipated herself being the one ready early, holding her breath up until the Kariji woman’s arrival. Ultimately, the roles had been switched, and Sigrid’s first feeling upon laying eyes on Naimah was sadly that of guilt. A plea for forgiveness shone in her blue eyes as she approached, head bowed. “I owe you more than an apology, and a better explanation than the truth… which is that I spent so much time fussing over how to present myself, I lost track of time entirely. Do you think you can forgive me?”
The Dawn warrior took one of Naimah’s hands and pressed a chaste kiss to her fingers. “This… seeing people for whom I hol a certain fondness, is new to me. I don’t much know the etiquette or how to prepare… more than likely, I was overthinking it. I realize that now.”
Offering her arm for Naimah to take, the two stepped past the gates and into the garden, beneath the dying sunlight. “My day was fruitful. I spent it attempting to train my comrades to fight in the style of Dawn warriors… so far, we are all failing miserably. But the last thing that you need is to smell my failure, so I did you a courtesy and made sure to bathe before meeting you tonight.” A chuckle shook her shoulders. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
The lightness of her smile dimmed a bit, though. As much as she wanted to forget that this city was bound to evacuate in days' time, and that it might be some time before she saw Naimah again, it was a fact that could not be ignored. "So... were you serious? That you will go to Braighdath after leaving Stella D'Mare? If so, I can tell you what to expect--who to talk to. To ensure you will be welcomed."
At Elespeth’s swift retreat, Hadwin uncurled his hands and returned to relaxing beside the exhausted summoner. Something about the Atvanian warrior and her mere presence tensed the muscles in his body, like they were preparing a physical altercation along with the verbal word-slinging he expected out of their encounters. Whether it was his moniker of “Bronwyn” that riled him so, recalling unpleasant memories of his eldest sister when Alster’s betrothed so much as made an appearance, or if it stemmed before the distinction, he...did not fancy her. Like Teselin, it was visceral, a reaction that rankled whenever her bossy older sister nature took aim. On the summoner’s behalf, he wanted to ignore her demands out of spite, but he conceded to her concerns. They were, after all, honest, and stemmed from a place of care. No doubt she once provided for a younger sibling and, in a fashion, continued to extend her protective instinct, foisting it on the vulnerable and meek. Perhaps it was what initially attracted her to Alster Rigas. He saw vestiges of the mild-mannered man he likely embodied in the past; it manifested, with blinding alacrity, when latched to her side, but faded when his mind dwelled elsewhere--be it inward, to the Serpent, or outward, to the task of Stella D’Mare’s evacuation. For her, would he remain mild-mannered and disgustingly self-sacrificing? Or would he go the way of strict taskmaster, a side to which Teselin was privy, earlier that day? And what of himself? Which side of Teselin would be prefer: hopeful and optimistic, or jaded and despairing?
Innocence was meant to die, and yet, here he was, to use Elespeth’s word, enforcing it. Preserving it.
“What’s more productive? Twenty hours of sleep-hazy training, or ten hours of high-focused, ass-kicking results?” He weighed his hands, balancing them as if they belonged on a scale. “Time isn’t the problem, scamp. It’s how you use it. And you’re far more valuable as bright-eyed, studious, and energetic, than as a slag of meat that’s sitting dead on a plate. Now, hypothetically, this makes sense. The math adds up. But if you’re anything like me, you can’t sit still, no matter how bushed you are.” He nodded to his legs, which twitched and kicked and rocked side-to-side in metronomic bursts of meter and rhythm. “Hard to sleep when you’re too eager or anxious for the next day. But do what you can. Better to attempt a healthier lifestyle than to ditch it completely and become some stumbling, drunken, hashish smoking, opium-using headcase like yours truly. Oh yes, I may come off as smooth as a river-tumbled rock skipping across a mirror-still lake surface,” he winked, “but that’s because I’ve had ample practice. Not saying you’ll devolve into some hedonistic thrill-seeker if you shirk sleep and food and general order, but it can’t hurt to try this ‘normal’ method of societal functionality before you go for the dysfunction.”
His grin, which always seemed plastered to his face, sagged in favor of a thoughtful curvature of the mouth. An arm wrapped itself around Teselin’s shoulders, a boisterous gesture, if sound could convey motion. “Aw, kid, don’t make me pity you. Who raised you, then, in your youth? Wolves?” He tittered at his own joke. “Nah, I get it. My da was emotionally absent and my mam took interest in me because my Fearsight was useful to her. Rowen and me...we were the only two people in the world, for a while. Everyone else abandoned her, didn’t see her in the darkness. She vanished, and it took years for me to penetrate the night.” He massaged her arm under the guise of circulation, but it was a mechanical effort on his part. His eyes were elsewhere. “Care is a weird thing. Everyone wants it, but they’re not sure what to do with it, once it gets to them. Two of among the most widespread fears I see are of loneliness and rejection. People want people, but they don’t want pain. Tough luck, because they’re both part of the same package.” Shaking out of his reverie, he presented her with another shit-eating grin. “Don’t know if that’s useful to you, but yeah. People like Elespeth are a pain in the ass, but sometimes they’re a necessary pain. Don’t tell her I said that,” he tapped at the edge of the plate, “and in turn, I won’t tell that you’re ‘disobeying’ her nonnegotiable directives. Though I can’t promise she won’t appear in the middle of the night like some apparition to haunt you into obedience. Nags like her find a way.”
A few minutes later, Haraldur returned to their spot on the lawn, carrying with him two heaping plates of mutton and rice. At his approach, Hadwin laughed at the obscene amount, knowing the statuesque man could empty both plates, followed by the plates, themselves. “A growing boy needs his sustenance,” he teased.
The growing boy in question groaned. “Don’t make me regret this,” and he thrust the additional plate under the wolf-shifter’s face. Hadwin, working at his jaw, pointed to his chest, incredulous.
“For me?”
“You offered your plate to Teselin, and there’s no more food in the pavilion. Can’t have a hungry wolf. They get...unruly.”
“Hear you loud and clear, your Highness, veiled threat and all!” He accepted the plate and forked the food into his mouth. By the time he finished, the summoner had nodded off against his shoulder, sound asleep. “You should carry her off like a princess to her chambers,” Hadwin whispered to Haraldur. “Lots of girls fantasize about a handsome prince whisking them away from the evils of life.”
“So you’re saying you want me to rescue her from the Beast, then?” He countered, clattering his fork upon his now empty plate.
“Aah. Touche.” He grinned a row of glittering, sharp canines. “By all means, save her from my depravity.”
There it was. The doubt. It punctured her eyes like twin thorns, riddling two, fine holes where before, she’d reserved wholeness for him. Unshakeable faith. Now, he had injured it, injured her. He lowered his eyes from her palpable pain. I’m always hurting you, Elespeth. Always…
But why had she looked at him as though addressing another person? This is me, he wanted to say, but faltered. He’d already tried to convey that his change of mindset was a natural progression, not rightly affected by the foreign entity in his head. The Serpent manifested once, that day. The rest belonged to him. The harshness of his training, his treatment of Teselin...belonged to him. Tightness gripped at his throat, and he wanted to scratch himself an airway, so he could breathe. He resisted. It was better to choke. Elespeth would prefer him that way; as some pitiable, broken thing, in need of rescue before life smashed him to smithereens. He couldn’t do that anymore. He couldn’t stay broken--not even for her.
“I don’t want her to become like me,” he said, a soft admittance that carried like a roll of thunder. “When she came to me today, that’s all I could see. The worst of me. So determined to please, to give herself away for a cause larger than herself. To bleed for others and to invite a lifetime of regrets spurred on by crumbled expectations. I wanted to beat it out of her. Anything to prevent another Alster.” Both hands clenched in his lap, his head pulled downward, as if burdened by a heavier, weightier gravity.
“You love the part of me I hate the most.” Now, his voice was a rumble of thunder. “You love the victim. Sputtering, always apologetic, giving, always giving, because he thought no one would love him if he didn’t cut, and cut away, and die. But I’m done with dying, El. I’m done with being the victim. Please understand...that I did it all for you. Because I chose life. I chose you. And as long as we carry our bond, you have my heart. I gave it to you for safe-keeping...in case I stray too far. In case you can’t find me. It, and I, will always love you, come what may. That is my sacred vow.” He leaned forward, and planted a soft kiss on her lips; a quick one, in case she was too disgusted to linger in his presence for long. Sure enough, she stood up, and made towards the villa without him.
“Wait,” he breathed. When she stopped, he stood, taking the few strides necessary to be near her. “Give me your sword. I’ll return it before your training, tomorrow.” Though she hesitated, she did so, handing it to him with the scabbard in place. “I’ll return soon. But first, your sword needs an upgrade of enchantments. Leave it to me.” For her sake, he smiled, the boyish simper that belonged to the Alster with whom she fell in love. “If you want me to sleep on the divan tonight...you need only say.”
Upon Sigrid’s approach, Naimah smiled, closed-mouthed and dignified, her “whore” smile that had become her “real” smile by default. She hadn’t known where the latter disappeared to, and wasn’t sure when it would return. Nonetheless, she smiled for Sigrid, and it felt right. It felt right to brush her lips against the other woman’s cheek in greeting, and it felt right when she, in turn, drew up Naimah’s hand and planted her knuckles with a kiss. It didn’t matter the vehicle through which she smiled or acted, so long as her heart hummed and her partner shared in the experience.
“No, I do not believe I have reserved any forgiveness for you.” Naimah twisted her shoulders away from the warrior in a faux pout. “The Kariji are a punctual people. If we do not hold ourselves accountable for timed arrivals, then surely the world will devolve into chaos. We do not expect the same dedication from any outsiders, however. So you,” she swerved back to Sigrid’s direction, “are exempt. Not forgiven!” She laughed. “But tolerated. Especially as this is your first time courting a woman. Do remember, Sigrid; I am a whore. You needn’t make any preparation on your end. We are, as the public eye likes to say, ‘easy.’ That said, I am grateful that you have bathed.”
She accepted Sigrid’s arm and together, they plunged into the garden. The fairy lights from last night’s celebrations twinkled from inside prematurely blooming flowers, the early evening awash in color and aroma. With the glittering etherea in her purview, she attributed smells to colors, independent of their corresponding petals. Jasmine was a soft, pulsing purple. Bougainvillea, a warm, dripping orange. Rose, a verdant, ivy green. She reached a hand to touch the lights; they winked out, disappearing against the graying background of the eve. When she withdrew, they reappeared, in an agitated, buzzing strobe, like a bee disturbed from its hive.
“Were you training the two warriors to whom I was introduced briefly, last night? Your cousin, the Eyraillian prince, and Alster Rigas’s fiancee? The Rigas of ceremony?” A small grin lit her face. “I would have loved to see you in action, though I realize my imagination of your training is incompatible with the reality of it. As is life, I suppose. Still,” she leaned a head against Sigrid’s shoulder, “I would like to see you train sometime. Perhaps when the city is not so under threat, and we have been moved away safely.”
Speaking of safe havens…
“Where else will I go? Our secondary destination is as of yet undisclosed, and I will have no idea what to expect. In Braighdath, I will at least have some familiarity with your city...because of your association. You are free to tell me how to establish myself while there. I much appreciate any of your advice...and welcome your connections, of course. It is very whore-like of me, to befriend powerful allies and fall under their protection. Do not think less of me,” she smiled apologetically. “It has never been my intent to use you, in that way.”
“What do you mean, you don’t want her to become like you? What about being you is so terrible?” Elespeth’s voice had taken on a soft tone, betraying the uncertainty of her words, the confusion that swam in her slate green eyes. Why was this conversation even occurring? Why was any of this happening…? “You have saved lives and dispelled monsters. You are the only reason that Stella D’Mare is still standing, today. I would want nothing more than someone with Teselin’s power to become another Alster Rigas. It does not mean that she must absorb all of your vices to learn and put into practice your virtues; it doesn’t work like that…”
She looked down to the discarded rose on the ground, sitting lonely in the dirt, never having received the chance to bloom. Never having been blessed with a real shot at life, or a chance to share its delicate beauty with the world. Teselin did not have to succumb to that; deep down, though she was too afraid to tell her so, the Atvanian warrior knew that the young summoner stood a chance at standing strong. But that did not mean she had to bloom before she was ready, just to impress an unforgiving world. She did not have to suffer. Even now, when they were running out of time, she’d had faith that the kind and patient Alster Rigas she knew so well could help bring out the best in the young woman, without making her suffer through the worst…
But as it stood, Elespeth was not sure she knew the man training Teselin, now. And she wondered if she had made a mistake, encouraging the young summoner to seek his aid. “I just… I just don’t understand, Alser. Are you trying to say that the part of you whose training tactics resemble those of your abusive mother… that you prefer that part of you, to the part that I love so dearly? The Alster I know was soft and strong. I’ve watched you stand your ground to Chara, to Messino, to countless others who’ve attempted to put you in your place. Somehow, you believe that these two aspects of you--confident and steadfast, and patient and kind--must be mutually exclusive, but humanity does not work that way. We all embody both of those things. It is simply a matter of knowing when a situation warrants either of those aspects. You don’t need to destroy the gentle part of you. I wish… I wish you could see just how essential it is.”
She shook her head as she rose from the bench, feeling heavier than she should. None of this felt real; she half-wondered if she was stuck in some sorrowful nightmare. His kiss on her lips tingled with the energy of their newly enhanced blood bond, and yet… it didn’t feel the same. Where she usually derived warmth from his kisses, this time, she felt… nothing. If only this were a nightmare… But her heart ached too much to suggest any of it was a dream. “You were never a victim in my eyes, Alster. Because I stand up for victims; not once have I found myself needing to stand up for you. You’ve always held your ground beautifully on your own…”
I did it all for you. His voice rang in her ears, jarring her feet to come to a stop before she’d drifted far. I chose life. This… was this her fault? Had her demand that he keep safe, that he return to her, driven him to discard that part of him that she treasured most? His first night back in his home, she had told him with her own words that she approved of his confidence--in bed, specifically. She had never intended for it to extend to too much more than that. Had she known that those words would grow beyond her intent, like weeds choking a garden… she never would have uttered them. I did this… I encouraged this. It is my fault.
Before she could leave the vicinity, Alster asked her for her sword. The very sword he had already enchanted, strapped across her back. “You’ve already bestowed it with magic… it has served me well. I am not sure what else you can do, but…” She hesitated, just for a beat, before unsheathing her blade and presenting it to him with both hands. “I cannot turn down the opportunity for it to serve me even better. If anyone can ameliorate it… it’s you.”
Elespeth tried a smile on her lips, in response to that smile of his that she knew so well. She wished it warmed her more; but she couldn’t tell whether it was even genuine. Not anymore. “No. No, you don’t need to sleep on the divan, Alster. Go to bed, get the rest you need in a decent place. We will all need our strength. I’ll be by soon.”
She wanted it to be the truth. She was exhausted as any of them, after Sigrid’s intense training, and the Atvanian knight wished for nothing more than to go to bed in comfort of her fiance’s presence. But right now… she didn’t know if she could. Not right now, not just yet, with everything she had learned. Elespeth did return briefly to Chara’s villa, but only to “borrow” a bottle of wine; there weren’t many left, but she doubted Chara would be missing it any time soon.
Bottle in hand, she left for the grassy terrain overlooking lower Stella D’Mare, where many had congregated earlier to take their meals. With the coming of evening, the area was mercifully empty, allowing her a space to spend time with her thoughts and sort out the events of the day. Teselin’s pale, small form, barely able to hold itself up, the rage in Alster’s eyes when he had sussed out words she hadn’t even spoken, and his confession, just now, swearing his hatred for the part of him that she loved most. It was surreal, devastating, and she… she didn’t know how to cope. So she turned to the tried and true means that both Chara and Haraldur used, in times of need.
Settling on a spot beneath a tree, Elespeth popped the cork on the bottle, and forewent a glass entirely, putting her mouth to the lip of the bottle and letting its bitter, smoky contents wash over her tongue, down her throat. It burned pleasantly, enough to take the edge off of the insurgence of emotions that threatened to drown her. Vaguely, she wondered how much of the bottle she’d need to consume before she stopped feeling anything at all.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat, or how much she’d drunk, before hearing her name upon someone’s lips--or, rather, her nickname. One of many, from this particular individual. “I never get drunk; rarely, very rarely. Of all the people to find me on one of these rare occasions… it would have to be you.”
Elespeth leaned her head back against the tree trunk as Hadwin approached, wearing that typical smug expression that turned her words sour and her blood hot. But not tonight; not now, with wine in her veins. Right now, nothing seemed to matter. “So I assume you got her to bed, safely? And that she ate well?” She was, of course, referring to Teselin. At Hadwin’s confirmation, she seemed to sigh in relief. “Good… that’s good. But… if I’m being honest? I knew you would. It’s funny, you know. Before Alster returned, I thought you were the worst possible company that girl could keep. But today… after today…”
She stared straight ahead, far away at nothing in particular, with troubled, green eyes. “I didn’t want to believe it, when I saw the state Teselin was in, today. She could hardly hold herself up… and I thought it was all her. Just a stupid girl being stubborn because she wants to prove to everyone she can amount to something. But… I just spoke with Alster, an hour ago. And he told me… he told me everything. Everything I have never wanted to hear.”
Preemptively, Elespeth took another swig from her bottle of wine before another surge of pain could threaten to squeeze the life from her heart. “He confessed to being overzealous with his training of Teselin. To employing methods his own abusive mother used on him. And then he told me… he told me that the ‘old Alster’, the Alster Rigas with him I fell in love, and chose to marry… he said he hates that person. That there is no place for him at this point in time. That the Alster Rigas I know and love was a ‘victim’, and and that he did it for me… for me. But he was never a victim. He is… the Alster I know is stronger than anyone I know. Because he maintains himself, despite war, despite death, despite every trial that he has confronted. It has not turned him hard or cruel, but this… new Alster. I just… I don’t know.”
The Atvanian warrior slumped forward, pulling her knees to her chest. She had never allowed herself to look so vulnerable to anyone, not since her grief when her brother had passed away. Grief that she had shown to Alster; Grief that he had soothed, rehabilitating her battered heart and incinerated nerves back to functioning order. But what would the new Alster do, now? Would he call her weak from her grief, a ‘victim’ in her own right? “I wanted to believe it was just the Serpent’s interference. I could deal with that reality; I understand why he did it, and I couldn’t be happier that he found a way to preserve his life. But this… what I saw today was not the Serpent. It was him; it was Alster. The way that he would prefer himself to be. And he… I don’t know. I don’t know who it is I am to marry, anymore.”
She didn’t cry; what she felt was too deep for tears. But her eyes had become overbright, misty. “Here. You’d better take the rest of this; I’m not sure it would be a good idea for me to finish it.” Elespeth held the bottle of wine out to the shapeshifler. “...I don’t know why I am telling you all this. Maybe because you would find out, anyway--if you didn’t already know by looking at my eyes. Maybe I am just drunker than I thought.”
“Please accept my deepest apologies for my tardiness, my lady.” Sigrid dipped her head in shame, all the while wearing a smile upon her lips. “I come bearing no excuse for my lack of time management. Perhaps you would grace me with the opportunity to earn your forgiveness, if it cannot be given so freely?”
She straightened as Naimah took her arm, though the Dawn warrior’s smile did falter a bit. “You must stop reducing your identity to your occupation, Naimah. I do not care that you are a whore. You are still a person, and a beautiful woman who deserves respect. So… let me respect you. I’ve gotten off to a poor start, with my tardiness.”
Moving through the garden, Sigrid was loathe to admit to herself that she cared little for the flora that surrounded them, and everything for the woman on her arm. It didn’t matter where they were, what they were doing; her heart fluttered like it had the night before. Naimah, in a sense, was magical. “Yes, I was training Haraldur and Elespeth. Trust me, there is nothing glamorous about it; especially considering they are not familiar with the Dawn Guard’s unique style of fighting. But… if it really piques your interest,” the corner of her mouth curved into a grin, “then come by tomorrow. You can determine for yourself if I live up to your imagination, or if I am not worth your time.”
Whether or not she was worth the woman’s time, it brought a sense of relief to hear that she was serious about taking refuge in Braighdath. “Naimah, you are not taking advantage of my connections; I offered Braighdath to you freely, of my own will. When you arrive, mention my name, and ask for the Dawn Guard. You will find a man named Roen; tell him I sent you, and that I sent you here to await my return. You will encounter no resistance from them, that I promise you. After all, nobody aside from Alster and his friends knows my name, outside of Braighdath.”
“Elespeth.” An impatient breath blew out of Alster’s lungs into a sigh. “That is a naive look at the world. I would say it doesn’t work the way you propose, either, but you’re only drawing from your own experiences--as am I. People like Teselin, people like me...we attract energy. Anyone with an impressive amount of magical proficiency does. As is often the case for walking magnets of unprecedented power, problems arise. Energy in the form of chaos. Of trouble. Rarely do people like us live a quaint, serene life in relative obscurity, because our existence is a miniature orbit, and our gravity influences, disrupts, like the moon’s effect on the tides.” At the mention of tides, his head bobbed like a buoy in the direction of the ocean. A round, silvery-golden disc of light hovered over the eastern horizon. A full moon.
“There is little hope for Teselin, Elespeth. Little hope she won’t endure her own series of disproportionately harsh trials--because her magic is disproportionate to the balance by which this plane of existence adheres. She can run from it, as my father did, but you know how he met his end. By the hands of his own son.” His prosthesis twitched from the memory, as though it weaved the magic responsible for his parents’ gruesome deaths. “All I can do is prepare her. But do not mistake what I mean.” His eyes tightened and his mouth hooked into a jagged frown. “I am not Debine. I will not be like Debine, my instruction included. If we are to use your logic, taking on a stricter role does not make me an abuser. Because you’re right; people are complex; they are rarely one-sided, or singular. I erred, today, with my visceral reaction to the girl. I saw too much of myself in her. It won’t happen again. I don’t want to harm her. And no, I don’t want her to take on my role, because I wish it on no one, no matter how many lives or cities she ends up saving. Because the more she saves, the more she’ll be beyond saving. She’ll lose essential pieces of herself. Become a patchwork approximation of a human being, no better for her accomplishments because she can’t view them as anything more than her sacred duty, as one saddled with a great and onerous power. And that is, if she survives to see her magic make a difference.”
With Elespeth’s sword resting across his hands, he folded both steel and flesh over the scabbard, sensing the hum of her energy intermixed with his enchantments. It tingled and coursed through him, a comforting chill that settled at the crown of his head. “You told me to care for myself, El. You made me promise that I would. Are you changing your mind? Who do you want me to be? What do you want me to be?” In his eyes, a soft plea rubbed away the hard lines that crinkled at his brow. “Alive, or dead? Because you’d be shuffling dirt over the selfless Alster, as you interred him to the ground. If I lose my virtue...am I really better off dead to you? ...Need I say it again?” He pointed to her chest. “You have my heart. My love. Does it mean nothing, if I can’t embody your knighthood’s tenets of honor and an outdated sense of ‘goodness,’ and justice? Am I so reprehensible now, because I worked Teselin a little harder than what she is accustomed? Am I,” his voice hitched, “beyond saving?”
He searched her eyes for the truth, for the answer, but she’d backed away by then, so eager to retreat from his presence, that he released her from any commitment to stay. “I...see. Well,” he hefted her sword and half-turned in the direction opposite her, “like I said, I’ll have your sword ready before your training tomorrow. I’ll give it to Sigrid when I see her. No use returning to Chara’s villa. It’s clear you don’t want me in the same bed as you. Serpents belong in dens...My mother knew that, early on, when she locked me away in the darkness.”
When the two disbanded, and tread down separate paths, Alster waited until Elespeth was far out of view before slowing in his strides, and letting flow a stream of tears.
The Serpent’s realm appeared behind his closed eyes, a haven, far from the familiarity of his world, and thus, far from the pain. “Do you want to go?” The voice of the Serpent rattled, like the susurrus of leaves in the wind, before the rain.
“I will.” He brushed his sleeves against his eyes, drying them of its liquid despair. “I’ll enchant the sword, first...and then I’ll go.”
Together, Haraldur and Hadwin accompanied the sleeping Teselin to her chambers, resting her on the bed and tucking sheets around her curled, slight form. How she was able to retain any iota of heat on her own was a mystery, considering how long she survived her training with Alster out-of-doors. With the Forbanne prince retiring shortly afterward, Hadwin could either stay with the summoner, or roam the night until sleep found him. The impatient bucking of his legs answered the question, and he slunk from Teselin’s chambers with nary but a soft click of the door as evidence of his egress.
His travels led him to the lawn outside Main House (naturally, seeing as he emerged from the side of the massive building). It was a short-lived sojourn, however, when his keen eyesight, with help from the moon, pointed out a familiar shape hunkered beneath a hardy pine tree. And it was sucking on a wine bottle.
“Oh wonder of wonders. Bronwyn, of all people, partaking in drink?!” He came to a stop just shy of her shadow that, were it daylight, or unshielded by a tree, would command its own presence. “And here I thought full moons affected established lunatics only. What changed? Too deliriously happy from yesterday, that it knocked your mind out of joint, for good?” Counter to his comment, his expression, probing as usual, eyes alight and attentive, narrowed with its all-knowing stare. Crossing his arms, he leaned a shoulder against the tree. “Of course, indeed. It also happens that you’ve settled in a highly-trafficked area--so someone was bound to spot you. Lucky it was me, huh? I swear, every time we have a chance encounter, I see another side of you. But this is new; never seen you so down in the dumps. Worse, even, than when your fiance left some months ago. So this new low must be Alster Rigas related. No surprise.”
It was; she needn’t confirm with a response, though she weaved one in amidst talk of Teselin and her confidence in leaving him to her well-being. “I take it you don’t view me as a remorseless monster anymore? Funny, that.” He punctuated with a quick chortle. “People are dualistic; who knew? Existing, simultaneously, as beings of light and of darkness, good and harm. Including your beau. But here; I’ll pose you a question. Have you ever stopped to wonder if this ‘new’ Alster you’re seeing isn’t new at all? That it’s a rehash of the boy you never knew? The boy who awakened the Serpent, and later, the man who killed his parents? Easy to forgive that aspect of himself, huh? Because you weren’t there to experience it.”
In the silence afforded by Elespeth processing the information, Hadwin pulled his pipe from inside his jerkin, already stuffed with hashish beforehand. With an expert flick from his tinderbox, the bowl smoldered, and a ghostly gray smoke wended the air in sinuous, serpentine patterns. “What I can tell you, from my more thorough assessment at the meeting, is that it’s the fear talking. He’s afraid he’s finding himself in the same position from his childhood, and he doesn’t want to repeat the cycle of guilt and horror and madness. Doesn’t want to play the victim. So he’s trying out a different direction. Will it work? Will cruelty overtake his values, and turn him sour and unrecognizable? Those are not the pertinent questions, Brownling. The right question is: how do I quell his fears? And right now, the worst thing you can do is walk away, because it’ll confirm his choice is the ‘correct’ one, and he’ll go for it. That shit with Lady Chara, when they were children, messed him up right proper. It’s an ugly scar, that runs clear across his fearscape. He’s terrified you’ll abandon him, and not physically, per say, but emotionally.”
At his conclusion, he rolled his eyes and took a liberal puff of his pipe. “Geez. I should be charging for this service. So yes, I’ll take your wine.” With a free hand, he plucked the bottle from her grasp. By the testing of its weight, she had drunk half of its contents. It was enough to plaster a lightweight into a state that was actually receptive to his company, an impressive, even monumental feat in his opinion. “Anyway, I’m not going to spell out the solution for you, because I don’t have one. There isn’t a ready, handy formula. Because if I had it, you bet I’d be rich enough to run my own country. But now you have a little perspective, so do with that what you will.” With one hand, he took a puff; with the other, a swig of wine. “You know, your drunken self is a wise one, indeed. Could be that I was the right person to confide in, all along. But I’m rightly mad, so my words carry little weight. Anyway,” he stared at the moon, the original knower of hidden truths and emotional clarity, “if I’m not out on scouting duty tomorrow, I’ll check in on Teselin as she’s training with Alster. Extra eyes and all.”
“If I do not reduce my identity, then others surely will do it for me. Better to defy ‘whore’ by my own terms, and accept who I am, than allow people to sling it at me as an insult. Though I for one am taken, as always, by your candor.” Naimah curtsied in a swish of skirts, before returning her arm about the Dawn Warrior. They meandered deeper into the garden, bodies pressing closer as the cobblestone path narrowed.
“Consider my interest piqued,” she grinned, though she showed minimal teeth. “Would they care for spectators and busybodies, though? I might be too great a distraction. Not for them, mind, but perhaps for their instructor?” She tilted her head, brown eyes luminous under the moonlight--and full of mischief. However, the moment waned, as would the moon, the next evening. And the next, and the next--until there was nothing but a dark circle, invisible in the black.
“And where will I stay, after speaking to your instructor? You seriously do not mean for me to take refuge in your barracks--if that is where you call home? Much as you insist my presence will not be questioned, I do worry for your reputation, if I am on full display, and not hidden away, as is more socially acceptable. Please; I do not require favorable treatment. I am satisfied with a tent, or a small unit on the outskirts. Whichever won’t compromise your standing with the Dawn Guard.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” a familiar voice, followed by a polite clearing of the throat, sounded from behind. When they turned to address the newcomer, Alster Rigas appeared among the fairylights of the garden, a sheathed sword laying across his arms. “I didn’t think anyone would be here tonight, but I heard your voice,” he nodded at Sigrid, “and figured it’d be better to talk to you now than find you later. This won’t take long, I promise.” He grasped the weapon by the hilt and presented it to her.
“This is Elespeth’s sword. Could you return it to her tomorrow, at your training? I’ve added a few more enchantments, that will benefit her in the battle with Solveig. For one, this sword will not hurt a friend, no matter how hard she swings or stabs. Friends are determined by blood, so you and Haraldur will have to prick your fingers on the tip of her sword to activate this enchantment. I’ll enchant weapons for you and Haraldur, if you’d like. I know you’re working a formation, but since you’re handling devil’s draught, these enchantments will ensure you won’t erroneously infect anyone with the poison. The second enchantment I’ve added to her sword will allow her to channel my magic from its blade, in a form of her choosing. It might not be effective against Forbanne, but I hope it’ll find its uses, against other assailants.” He pressed the sword into Sigrid’s waiting hands and retreated a step. “Tell her what I’ve told you, about her weapon. Thank you.” He reserved a smile for Naimah, and bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Naimah. I hope you are faring well.”
The scimitar-dancer returned his bow with a small curtsy. “I am. And yourself?” But the Rigas caster had retreated in full, and headed in the direction whence he came. She watched after his departure, lips pursing with concern. “Why would he not give the sword to his betrothed? Did they have a fight?”
Of course this came as no surprise to him. Just the other night, following her naming ceremony, hadn’t Hadwin eluded that there was more going on beneath the surface with Alster than just the Serpent? At the time, she hadn’t known what he’d meant, and he hadn’t cared to elaborate, so she’d willfully forgotten about it. Put it out if her mind, because it was easier than dwelling upon it and assuming the worst. But it had been there; and the shapeshifter’s vague forewarning hadn’t been enough to prepare her for the truth.
“You knew.” she whispered, shaking her head slowly in her devastating realization. “Just the other night… when you’d alluded to his fears, but you wouldn’t elaborate. This is what you meant, wasn’t it? You saw all of this in his eyes…” Elespeth expelled a shaky breath and curled in on herself. “Why didn’t you tell me? Is it because you hate me so much you wanted it to come to this,” she indicated the bottle of wine, “before I finally caught on? I knew about the Serpent. I could deal with that, for the reasons Alster had merged with it, because I’d told him to stay alive. I’d told him… and he’d obliged. And now he says he must leave himself behind, in order to survive. To become someone I don’t know, anymore. What’s worse, he said he did it all for me--for me. I inspired this change. I wanted him to live--I still want him to live, there is no question about that, but…”
The Atvanian warrior turned her gaze to her still-bandaged palm, the one that had come into contact with Alster’s blood. “I was thinking the wrong way. I had so hoped to guard him against the Serpent, so afraid I’d lose him to it, that it never occurred to me I might lose him to… to himself. To an Alster I haven’t met, before.” Who do you want me to be? He had asked her. What do you want me to be? Alive, or dead? Alive. She wanted him alive. But it had never occurred to her that her Alster Rigas--kind and gentle, a soft touch in an unforgiving world--had been destined to die, all along. And to leave behind someone… else. “All this time, while he was away, I pined for him to come back. I was so lost without him by my side. But he… he never came back, did he?” When she looked up again, her verdant eyes were finally glistening with tears. “Not my Alster. Someone else came back; someone who insists on changing, and it… it just feels like everything is falling. Shattering.”
Elespeth wiped her tears with the sleeve of her tunic, before they became too obvious, but the gesture in and of itself gave her away. “I did try to quell his fears. I tried to reassure him, but he wasn’t seeing reason; he was just calling me… naive. Maybe I am. Maybe I’ve been a knight for too long to see anything differently.”
Inhaling an unsteady breath, Elespeth--just as unsteadily--got to her feet. The heavy influence of alcohol tilted her world, such that she had to place a hand on the tree to stabilize herself. Some knight she had become; drunken and despairing. “My name is Elespeth.” The Atvanian said at last, shooting a tired glance at Hadwin out of the corner of her eye. “Not Bronwyn, not Friendless; Elespeth. It is about the only thing that I am sure about, right now, so I’d appreciate it if you used it. Maybe it would make you more tolerable.”
She couldn’t go to sleep in an empty bed, so when she left the clearing, Elespeth spent a good deal of the evening wandering the city, wondering how she had gotten herself beholden to a place that meant so little to her; that was nearly meaningless, to her, without Alster at her side.
“You are a woman more secure in herself than I have ever met, Naimah.” Sigrid mentioned with a smile, impressed that she so readily embraced her identity so as to give it her own meaning, causing insults to slide off her like she were made of oil. “I like that. Your confidence stands out as prominently as your beauty; I find it rather attractive.”
The Dawn warrior laughed at the prospect that the Kariji woman’s presence might be… well, rather distracting. She had a point; now might not be the time to show off. But, on the other hand, having a supportive figure in the wings might encourage her to do that much better. “You have me there. I very well might get distracted… at the same time, I like to think about the opportunity of showing off to you. So far, you’ve only gotten a taste of my chivalry and dancing skills. If not tomorrow, then someday, I would like for you to see that I am not all talk, and that I actually wield a sword. You know,” she grinned, “for the sake of my ego, of course. That said...”
Sigrid rested a hand atop of Naimah’s fingers, hooked through her elbow. “When the dust settles, we shall have to see about acquiring new scimitars, for you. Because I would love to see you wield those, as well. You dance… lovely as it was, it left me wanting for the real thing.”
The Kariji woman’s concern for where she might stay in Braighdath was almost enough to make Sigrid laugh, again. Instead, she smiled and shook her head. “Nothing about you will compromise my standing in the Dawn Guard, Naimah. You will not be required to stay in the barracks. Roen will find a roof to put over your head. At the very worst, Braighdath’s inns are seldom occupied, and have been known to house travelers in need without requiring compensation. And, if you decide that the city isn’t for you, and you do not want to stay, then… that decision is entirely yours. Although,” her blue eyes softened. “I would miss your company.”
The two women hadn’t ventured too far through the gardens before they realized they were not alone. Alster Rigas stood before them, holding out a sword; one Sigrid recognized almost immediately to belong to Elespeth. She seldom saw the former knight without it. “Alster. How are you enjoying the evening?” Instead of answering, the Rigas caster went on to inform her about the enchantments he’d bestowed upon the blade. All very useful, she had to admit, but… why was he telling her? And why was she to be the messenger, passing the sword and the details pertaining to it off to Elespeth?
She was about to ask as much, but Alster was hasty in taking his leave. The Dawn warrior narrowed her eyes. “I do not know,” she said to Naimah. “I’ve been with Elespeth all day long. She was not acting as though anything were amiss… if anything has occurred, it must have happened after our training. Regardless of timing, this is a harbinger of doom, if ever I’ve seen one. Will you wait here a moment?” Sigrid flashed a shy, hopeful smile. “I won’t be long--and I am not standing you up, I promise! But I want to focus on you, tonight, and not this sword… and evidently, there seems to be a crisis that must be averted.”
When Naimah kindly agreed to wait for her, Sigrid went after Alster. He hadn’t gone far, wandering, forlorn, through the Rigas gardens. Something was most definitely amiss; this was not the temperament of the Alster she was used to. “Alster.” She spoke his name and waited for him to turn around, holding the sword in her arms, the same way he had presented it to her. “I regret to say… I think I’ve had my fill of being burdened with enchanted blades. This is Elespeth’s sword, with your magic coursing through it; it is not my duty as a messenger to pass it on.”
Somehow, she expected that hurt look of disappointment to befall his features as he took the blade back, but before he could angrily stalk off, she caught him by the shoulder. “I’ve been very open with you, Alster. You’ve seen me at my worst and at my best, whether or not I wanted you to see it. If there is something discouraging you from delivering this to your fiancee, yourself… then, first and foremost, I want you to know that I will listen, if an unbiased ear would benefit you. But more importantly than that… if something has happened between the two of you, then I am telling you, knowing what I do about how the next few days are to unfold: you must find a way to solve this problem.”
Sigrid took a step back, hands clasped behind her back. “I am not trying to be rude or pushy. But we have precious little time to prepare, and we must ensure that everything falls into place the way that it should. Unity and cooperation can only carry us to victory if we are all playing on a level field. You understand what I am trying to say, don’t you?” He did; she could see it in his eyes, but if he wouldn’t acknowledge it with words, then she would do it for him. “We absolutely cannot be at odds with one another if we want to succeed. Whatever is occurring between you and Elespeth, the two of you need to work it out. I cannot have her mind preoccupied with troubles, if we want to work out a formation against Solveig. And you have taken on a student yourself, haven’t you? Young Teselin?” She offered a knowing smile. “You’ll need to be all ‘there’ for her, too. Whatever has you down… it cannot compare to your love for Elespeth. I’ve seen the way you look at one another; you’ve told me, yourself, what you’ve endured together. Don’t let this sit and fester. Confront it, before we are out of time.”
She gave the Rigas caster’s shoulder one last squeeze, and offered a cheeky smile. “Myself… I’ve got my own beautiful woman waiting on me, and I promised her I would not be long. Go and find Elespeth. Nothing good has ever come of an affianced couple choosing to spend a night alone.”
Unsure as to whether or not her words would register, Sigrid mentally crossed her fingers that Alster would at least reconsider his mood and his actions, and seek out the Atvanian knight. For beyond her genuine concern for his happiness… she meant what she had said. Only through unity could this plan function to its fullest potential. There was no room for discord.
Finding Naimah right where she had left her, the Dawn warrior sighed in relief (part of her had half-expected the Kariji woman to decide there were better times to spend her time, than waiting for the likes of her). “Forgive me. There was indeed a crisis that needed attention.” She explained, turning her hands palms up. “The good news is, we won’t be burdened with an enchanted weapon this evening.”
Returning to her side, Sigrid’s hand found Naimah’s again, grateful that the Kariji woman was as patient as she was forgiving. “First I am late on arrival, and then I interrupt our evening together to venture far beyond my credentials and encourage counsel between a couple who I thought was madly in love… Frankly, I don’t know why you are even bothering to put up with me. But… I am not complaining.”
A steady laugh guffawed from Hadwin. With the bottle held to his lips, the noise bounced into the glass neck, trapping some of its amusement. “Here you go again. Accusing me of withholding information because you’re that determined to build me into the villain you need. No reason to defend myself; you’ll write whatever story fits your narrative about me. But--I did not know. As I pointed out the other night, I caught only a glimpse of his fears, and not enough to render an accurate enough sketch of his inner mind. Scrying through my Sight is like watching the eddies of smoke on the breeze; you never know which wisps will blow your direction.” He puffed on his pipe, rounded his lips, and sent out several smoke rings, two of which landed near Elespeth’s knee and dissolved into an invisible haze.
“His patterns are ever-shifting. He’s a dynamic fellow. When I look too long, he gives me a headache, right behind the eyes--an ice-pick’s stab of pain. It limits my concentration of his fearscape. But my acquisition of this information means nothing to you, and I hate to disappoint your perception of me, El-es-peth,” he said, sounding out her name in three parts, and butchering the pronunciation on purpose. “I know fears, but sometimes I have to dig to find the pertinent stuff. Continue your close-minded analysis of yours truly, though. I’ll give you a pass because you’re drunk, but in my not-so-professional opinion, I am left to wonder if your fiance is fed-up by your black-and-white look at the world. Leaves no room for colors. For ‘others,’ like him. And that’s another thing I take umbrage with.” He tapped the lacquered surface of the pipe against the bottle; a clink and a clunk rang simultaneously. “People change, princess; get over it. But because he isn’t ‘your’ Alster anymore, you’re panicking and bemoaning the end times? Giving up before you’ve given this ‘new’ him a chance? He’s not dead, you know. There’s always opportunities to reconcile, to turn it around, to rebuild, and salvage. But not if you’re using finalizing terms and mourning his passing like he already took a personal tour to the underworld, and is moving house there.”
“Nothing is so hopeless. You want to know what’s worse?” He pointed to his temple. “Having the spirit of your dead mam yammering away in your head whenever you’re idle for so much as a moment. You gotta drown her out constantly, with booze, and drugs, because if you don’t, it’s all you’ll ever hear, and see. Do you want that, El-es-peth? A haunting reminder of your beloved that you can’t escape? And no, nightmares of your dead brother don’t count. I’m talking a real spirit. A ghost of vengeance, who never lets you rest. If Alster died tomorrow, what would be the dialogue playing in your head? What script would fear and guilt give him to read, which would ensure your near constant distress? Because that’s what it’s like.” By now, his eyes were narrowed; gone were the mirth lines, the mouth-crinkle of humor and easy-going prattle. His eyes were smoldering pits, helped along by the streams of smoke emanating from his pipe. A grimace showed his teeth, mouth twisting in a rictus of pain and low-boiling anger. “So no, nothing is crashing down on you. The man is here, he’s accessible to you, he has reason, is capable of thought, and he’s not a spectral shadow intent on sucking until you’re dry. Pity your rotten luck all you like, but that won’t fix a damn thing about your situation.”
He flicked a speck of ash off his jerkin. It smeared on the distressed leather, instead. “You said you ‘tried’ to quell his fears, but if it didn’t work, are you sure you’re quelling them at all? Or are you just trying to soothe your own? Most people want acceptance. Since you’re rejecting a part of him, whether ‘acceptable’ or not, I don’t think you ‘tried’ anything. Nothing useful, anyway. But whatever.” He washed out the lingering smoke taste with a few liberal gulps of wine, and pushed himself from the tree. “I’m done tolerating you. Glad to know the feeling is mutual. Consider this the last of my ‘counsel;’ you should be so relieved. Shows what I get for extending you a bit of courtesy. And since we’re not friends, and we far from respect each other, I don’t care a lick about your name, Friendless.”
He uttered it with a growl, bared teeth and sharp edges. Taking the bottle with him, he stalked into the woods, yearning for a functioning city, with a functioning tavern, so he could orchestrate a functioning brawl. He substituted a person with a tree, and threw frenzied fists at the bark until the wood splintered, and his knuckles busted open. It didn’t matter, anyway; they would heal.
He always healed.
Naimah tilted her head, seeming to consider Sigrid’s proposal. “Hmm. Well, if it will build morale, then I suppose I can stay and watch for a little while. Not enough to distract, of course. This is a trying time, and you must keep your head clear, where it matters. Though,” she whispered in Sigrid’s ear, her lips brushing against her lobe, “would you like me to kiss one of your swords, for good luck? Many a warrior has requested I do this, thinking it will grant them protection in war. You will need every failsafe, however superstitious, so you can keep to your promise, and return to Braighdath. It relieves me to hear that I will not have to stay in the barracks; though I am not picky about where I settle, I know for certain that I do not belong among your sisters and brothers. It is your tribal identity. I, as an outsider, threaten the tribe. And if I am being honest,” she hesitated, “it would cause me a great deal of discomfort. I may have found the confidence to deflect insults and threats to my questionable practices, but I will not delude myself into thinking I will have respect and acceptance...or safety, in polite society. No barracks for me, Sigrid. The inn will suffice. Or, again, a tent. Do not concern yourself with what the future will bring. I am certain your city is lovely, and I will find every accommodation, and will want for no other place. You are not one to lead a woman astray; even if she is of ill-repute.”
Their conversation was put on hold, when Alster Rigas emerged from the shadows of the garden to deliver Sigrid a sword. She remained quiet, and polite, and as the Dawn Warrior excused herself with promises to return, Naimah smiled, and planted her feet in the middle of the pathway. “No, this is certainly a matter of utmost attendance. I do not fault you for wanting to check on the well-being of a friend, and his relationship.” Her plush lips parted into a smile. “I find it is noble.”
Alster did not venture far, and with Sigrid’s long legs and purposeful gait, she was on him in minutes. He stopped, and looked over his shoulder, only to see the warrior jutting the weapon in his face, rejecting the responsibility of returning the sword to its owner. “It’s a simple favor, Sigrid,” he said, as he turned to face her, resting his prosthesis over his flesh and blood arm in an approximation of refusal. “I wouldn’t be asking it of you if I could do it, myself.” Then, electing for honesty, he added in a mutter, “I don’t think she’ll want to see me, tonight. Please, if you could take the sword--”
But the warrior did not budge, in his request or in her footing. She towered over him, staid and steadfast, and rattled off reasons for dealing with his problem in a swift manner--forget that she knew nothing about what transpired, and what it meant to see the distance and confusion in Elespeth’s gray-green eyes. The dismissal, humming on her lips, ready to speak the words that would condemn his soul to emptiness. Better to leave, before that happened. Before it all ended. “I’m not who she wants, anymore. This is not a problem I can solve in an evening, Sigrid. I can’t transform into the man she loves, as easily as the shape-changer can shift into his wolf-skin. It would be dishonest, and I don’t think I have it in me right now...to feel. To feel anything.”
He closed his eyes, and imagined sloughing off his skin, emerging with brighter scales and kicking aside the tattered, dull coat he’d been lugging behind for so long. In that coat, he dragged the world. And it pulled, it tangled on every snag and tree branch, yanking him backwards and forcing him to attend. Be everything to everyone, the trees whispered. I can’t, he answered. It’s too much. Too much…
“I don’t expect you to understand. I doubt even Elespeth understands. ...I don’t understand. She’s afraid I’ll become something ugly and unreachable, but I won’t--never to her. I won’t, because my love for her is pure. If I lose the heart that pumps inside her, then all is lost for me. Every connection to this world...it won’t matter.” He opened his eyes halfway; they were trained to the ground. “It’s too soon to find her. I wouldn’t know what to say, what to do. Distance is necessary right now...for the both of us.”
Though he said the words, he didn’t remember when he accepted the sword, when he cradled it in both arms, close to his chest, like a precious thing. When some spark of resolve squeaked out a ‘yes,’ and triggered his head to nod an affirmative. Sigrid was gone by then, and the shadows of the garden under the fairylights, under the moon, spanned clear across the pathway, engulfing him into their snare. What do you want? The shadows, like the trees, whispered. What are you most afraid of losing?
The answer was immediate, like an arc of lightning from a storm cloud. Elespeth….
When Sigrid returned, sans sword, Naimah, who was faithful in waiting, waved a beckoning hand near the warrior. “I take it your sword transfer operation was a success?” She snaked an arm around her companion, resuming their stroll around the garden path. “I am finding that I play the faithful woman well, loyal in her lover’s triumphant return from war. This is not a role I play often. Or at all.” She punctuated with a lilting laugh. “Speaking of lovers...madly in love or not, no one is immune to quarrels. Mistaken is the poet who writes of amore and believes it free of strife or uncertainty. That is the nature of life. Perhaps,” she nudged Sigrid’s arm, “I will write a poem for you, if you remain as endearing as you have been, so far.”
Alster followed Elespeth’s trail with ease. Even amidst their emotional schism, the bond acted as beacon, lighting up the dark with the remnants of her aura. Walking through where she tread, the mere suggestion of her feet upon the ground, was enough to send inviting tingles from his calves up to his arms, electrifying both steel and flesh.
He found her wandering just shy of the gates that led into lower Stella D’Mare--Mollengardian territory. Fortunately, guards enforced the entrance points, and would not allow any D’Marian to exit without permission from Chara. This was to ensure the safety of all D’Marians, and to intercept any spies looking to escape and share evacuation plans with Mollengard, or with Solveig.
Elespeth’s gait was unsteady, her aura muddy and lacking clear focus. He frowned as he approached. Was she drunk? He called her name. Called it again when she didn’t respond the first time. Did he alienate her, already? Did he damage their relationship beyond repair? Act too soon, without enough grace period to pass between contorted words and misunderstandings?
But then, she turned, and saw him. “Elespeth.” Setting aside her sword, he opened his arms wide, and scooped her into a tight embrace. “Whether I’m beyond saving or not, and whether I harden, or change, what I meant to say back there, was that my love for you won’t change. That’s why I agreed to reforging our bond.” He nestled into the crook of her neck. “As a promise; I’ll never abandon you. I’ve fought too hard for this, El. I chose life because I wanted to be with you. Because you’re a miracle I’d be stupid to forsake, in favor of death. Please be patient with me.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Please...don’t give up on me.”
“Since when are you not who she wants? All you spoke of in Eyraille was your determination to get back to her. All I’ve seen in her eyes since we arrived, here, is relief, and unmistakable love for you--what? Just because I’ve never experienced love, myself, does not mean I don’t know it to see it.” The Dawn warrior smiled a cheeky grin, but it faded, and she grew concerned when it did not seem to move Alster in the slightest. Whatever had transpired between him and the knight from Atvany in the course of an evening… it had been profound.
Still, she did not take a step back until he finally accepted the weight of Elespeth’s sword into his arms. “You are right: I do not understand. I don’t know either of you well enough to understand, and I haven’t the foggiest clue as to what happened between you in mere hours. But I know what I saw, last night.” Sigrid leaned in to squeeze his shoulder, leaning down ever so slightly to meet his eyes. “I saw a woman who was so determined to spend the rest of her life with you, that she extended her life to do that. I saw a woman whose hands bled not once, but twice for you, willingly; she told me about your bond, today, and how she wanted to strengthen it. So that she might always be able to reach you, no matter how far from one another physical distance takes you. So whatever happened, tonight… you cannot convince me that it is enough to unravel all of that.”
Expelling a soft sigh from her lungs, Sigrid straightened her posture. For one as tall as she was, she often forgot just how small Alster was for a man. He exuded a presence that was so much larger than his physical form, it was oddly easy to forget. “Distance is what will kill us--and you. And her. We need to stand together, Alster. The longer you stand apart from Elespeth, the more time you give yourself to ponder the worst without really know what is going on. What the both of you have, now, is more powerful and meaningful than any marriage. So go and figure it out--with her. You will be happy that you did.”
Hoping her words had left even a fingerprint of impact, the Dawn warrior left the Rigas caster to return to the person who was supposed to be the focal point of her evening. A woman who was, as she had come to learn, very patient and forgiving, however much she might not have deserved it.
“I am not sure that it was entirely a… success. But I did manage to rid myself of it, and hopefully convince Alster Rigas to deal with his own errands. Whatever lovers’ quarrel he and Elespeth are suffering has him quite shaken…” Sigrid shrugged her shoulders and let out a sigh. “I hope, for everyone’s sake, that they resolve their differences before tomorrow. Or else I highly doubt that Elespeth is going to be particularly receptive to training, tomorrow, and I need her mind to be clear and centered.”
A faint flush crept into her cheeks following Naimah’s words, and the warmth of her arm as it encircled her form. “I get it--I do. Lovers argue, they fight. But the way Alster was acting, it was as if he was predicting the end of whatever it is they have. And… I don’t know why, but I can’t accept that. Not knowing Alster the way I do, and knowing what Elespeth did last night to be with him. But… Naimah, I’m sorry.”
Sigrid offered an apologetic smile, reaching out to tuck the Kariji woman’s dark hair behind her ear. “I didn’t come out here tonight to talk about Alster and Elespeth. This night is exclusively for you--and me. I might take you up on your offer to kiss one of my swords, to ensure luck, tomorrow. Or--why kiss a single weapon, when you could kiss the wielder of a variety of weapons?” Her smile twisted into a frisky sort of smirk, and she winked. “Care to grant me some luck? At least enough to take me into tomorrow.”
Elespeth wandered wherever her heavy feet chose to carry her, that night, which happened to be anywhere and everywhere. Were the line that narrowly separated Mollengard from the D’Marians not continually reinforced by Rigas guards, she might well have found herself wandering directly into enemy territory. The night had taken on a damp chill that hung heavy in the air, but the wine that still coursed through her veins dispelled the sensation of the cold settling upon her skin. She didn’t feel it; didn’t feel much of anything at all, albeit a sharp ache in her chest. Just keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Perhaps if she walked for long enough, accepted the inevitable change that had forced its way into her life, that pain, too, would fade to nothing. Or at least fade to the back of her mind.
With every breath she took, the Atvanian knight tasted salt on the air, but it wasn’t wafting from the sea. No, she’d wandered too far from the sea; it was the scent of her own tears, still damp on her cheeks, that surrounded her. No sooner had she left the shape-shifter that Elespeth had finally let herself feel her grief, let the tears spill down her face without any shame, or anyone to wipe them away. From that point on, all that she heard was her own uneven, belaboured breathing, and the thudding of her heart in her ears, as she cold swear she felt it breaking. This wasn’t supposed to happen… it wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to walk away from Alster; he wasn’t supposed to walk away from her, and yet, they had both parted ways tonight, without a thought to reconcile. What happens now…? Even if we survive this… what happens?
How could she ever call Stella D’Mare a home, without the person who made it a home to her?
The wind had picked up; it roared in her ears, saying her name, over and over… Yet, it sounded so familiar. Less like a breeze, and more like a voice…
Elespeth looked up from the ground, for the first time in hours; and she saw him. Alster, with her sword in hand. I don’t want it, she considered telling him, and turning away again. I don’t want a reminder of you if you won’t be by my side… if you’re choosing a path that I cannot follow… But her lips and thoughts were too slow, and before she knew it, Alster had put the sword aside, and pulled her into an embrace. “...Alster…” Her lips parted enough to utter his name. The rapid heartbeat--her heartbeat--in her ears dimmed. And she suddenly became more aware of his.
My love for you won’t change. He told her, his hands warm at the back of her neck. I’ll never abandon you. Somehow, she heard the shapeshifter’s words in her head; as if they hadn’t made sense, hadn’t held any credence before, but now, they fell into place: Are you sure you are quelling his fears at all? Or are you just soothing your own? Just hours ago, she’d thought she had given Alster all the reassurance that she could genuinely muster on her behalf. She’d thought she had put up a good and reasonable argument as to why his talk of change and shedding his old self like an old skin was ludicrous. But in hindsight… damnit all, Hadwin had been right. She hadn’t been reassuring Alster, at all. Instead, she had been putting forth arguments to try and convince him to see things her way; through her own black-and-white lenses, as the shapeshifter had put it. Maybe she was the problem, after all. Too inflexible, too beholden to a moral code that no longer applied to her. Much though she tried to hold onto the past, to what she had always aspired to be, Elespeth Tameris--no, Elespeth Rigas was no longer a knight, and all rules and ideologies pertaining to that moral code no longer applied to her.
Perhaps… change was not only inevitable; it was necessary.
“...you were wrong.” She said at last, her voice breathy and hoarse from her hours wandering in the damp cold, paired with the alcohol that had left her throat raw. “You’re not better off to me dead, Alster. That was never what I meant to imply. Your life… the fact that you kept your promise, that you returned to me… that is what matters.”
She felt them, again, those tears that broke free and flowed anew. Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs. “I wanted so terribly for you to come back. And you did--you did, and you told me what it cost you. And I understood, and I’d have told you to do it if I had known, because what is important to me is that you are alive. And I thought… I thought that by strengthening our bond, I wouldn’t lose you to It. But I hadn’t considered… it never occurred to me that I would lose you to yourself.”
Saying the words out loud somehow gave them more meaning, and with that meaning came her own fear, and the hurt that accompanied it. The fear that Alster would become someone, something that she didn’t know, and that everything between them would be lost. “But the worst of it is… maybe you should change. Maybe we all should, because it is inevitable, isn’t it? We won’t survive this as we are. You won’t survive it as a self-sacrificing, bleeding heart. Teselin won’t survive with her innocence and naivete. And I… I won’t survive if I continue to hold onto what is impossible.”
The former knight pulled back enough to wipe her tears onto her sleeve. “This… you are all I have. Last night, I officially gave the rest of my life to you, because there is no other reason why I would want to live to be older than a hundred years. Atvany, my family thereof, is dead to me. You… you are what I have. I’ve paved my future to be with you. There is no turning back for me, and I’m just afraid… that I no longer know what truly lies ahead. What either of us might become, as a result of… of everything. Of war. Of this…”
Clasping her elbows, Elespeth drew quick, uneven breaths, too overwhelmed with emotion and chill and inebriation to fully function as the adult she should be. “...I’m sorry… I’m not making any sense, am I?” She forced a wry laugh and shook her head. “I took a page out of Haraldur’s book and decided to see if getting drunk would help… turns out, it doesn’t, and I don’t even know how to be drunk. It just makes me emotional and useless, and now I have a headache, I… I just want to go to bed…”
Having the sense to gather her sword (though she would have to have Alster explain the enchantments to her when she was sober), Elespeth accompanied Alster back to Chara’s villa--or, rather, had Alster accompany her, as her orientation was sorely skewed. Kicking off her boots once they arrived, she climbed (or rather, fell) into bed, pulling the covers over her chilled body. “Don’t let it change…” She murmured, green eyes half-lidded in the darkness that fell over the room. “Your heart… don’t let your heart change, even if the rest of you has to. You said you gave it to me… it won’t be mine anymore if it becomes something different.”
Since his return to Stella D’Mare, the decisions Alster had run from and postponed had swooped back around, and hit him with the fury of a thousand blows. Though united with his beloved at last, when he planted his feet on the earth of his ancestral home, it was as a changed man. He warned Elespeth of the changes, but with poor wording, because he didn’t rightly understand its scope or extent. For months, he battled a duality festering within him, a duality he blamed on the Serpent, and Its interfering presence. He attributed the invasive entity to his sudden spurts of apathy, the numb, detached pall that roosted in place of the frenetic, emotional flare that typified his day to day dealings with the world. But perhaps the Serpent only dredged up what was already tugging at his soul, and his presence on D’Marian soil expedited the struggle, because the residual energies of his past abuses and egregious acts hung in the air, a poisonous spore that, once inhaled, ate away at his defenses, forcing him to face his changes without a shield. Not even Elespeth could protect him, for it was his own, personal battle, raging inside him for decades.
The battle told the story of a victim who became the aggressor. Who stood by, and allowed others to bully him into submission, until the pressure built, and he lashed out with fire and vengeful destruction. In the wake of his breaking, he lived the rest of his days willingly reprising the role of victim, out of shame and fervent penitence, hoping, this time, that the renewing, rebuilding pressure would kill him. He wanted to die, because it was what he deserved. No other outcome made sense, and so he lived his remaining years, incubating a kindness laid by the lamentations of the sinful--and waited for death. Alster Rigas was Serpent’s Bane. Filth. A smear on the world, who should not have been born. He agreed with the chorus that gleefully sang their condemnation, and bowed his head, rendering himself low to the ground and crawling at their feet like the pitiful Serpent that he’d become. Forgive me, he pleaded with them. I’ll let you do anything to me, as long as you grant me forgiveness.
It was there that Elespeth found him. The worst of him. Groveling, begging for the table scraps of love and acceptance, and waiting for the executioner. Instead of falling to the axe, he fell into her arms, and she kissed away the oozing pustules that wept from his twisted soul. Next to her, life meant something more than sacrifice. In her eyes, he was safe, and warm, and saved. Then, came his choice. Life, or death? Elespeth, or an end to the pain?
He chose Elespeth.
And now, another choice surfaced from the cracks of a fractured Stella D’Mare. Do you act as though you are dying, and take on the mantle of victimhood once more, or do you fight? For your self-worth? For her?
He nodded. I fight for Elespeth. And for life.
Ensconced in his arms, he activated a spell, and flooded her chilled body with warmth. His hands roved in rhythmic patterns, regenerating the circulation in her exhausted muscles. “I know,” he whispered, keeping his eyes closed. “You were the among the first to walk into my life, who didn’t think I was better off dead. And Elespeth--that’s why I’m standing up, and sloughing this old, tattered skin. To be more for the people who believe in me. To value my life, so I can value yours, and all the sacrifices you’ve made. ...Do you trust me?” He drew himself taller, so to press his lips against her forehead; a gentle buzz of a kiss. “If you’ve ever trusted me...I won’t lose to myself. If anything, I’m looking to gain. But this is foreign territory for me to tread. It may take some trial and error. I don’t know where the path will lead me, but this isn’t an endeavor I’m facing alone.” He positioned both hands on her waist, and retreated a step, to better look into her tear-glistened face. “With you, I’ve never been alone. But I also need you to keep me in check, if I wander too far in the opposite direction. You’re my anchor. My safe harbor. I believe you’ll always tug me back to shore, no matter what happens.”
His magic-heated hands traveled from her waist and up along her arms. “I’ve been given this second chance of life, and I’m not going to squander it by falling into old habits. But you’re remiss to believe I’m trying to assassinate everything about myself that you love. Just the parts that no longer serve me. Serve us. You’re afraid; I’m afraid, too.” His voice quavered. “I’m so afraid. Afraid I’ll become less human. That I’ll become something hateful, and crooked. Or I’ll blink from this world altogether, and leave you behind. It’s all a balancing act--and I aim to tow the balance.” His steel hand hovered over her chest. “I have faith I’ll succeed…because I’ve never failed, since you wandered into my life.”
As she explained her drunken state, he returned the smile. With a handkerchief he pulled from inside his tunic, he dabbed at her moist cheeks. “Sorry your drunken aspirations didn’t work out the way you planned--though frankly, I’m relieved. I’m also a terrible drunk. Last time I partook, I incited a crowd to force Vega and Haraldur into a rushed marriage, threw a woman at a very uncomfortable Sigird, vomited on the palace walls, and overslept--which explains our later than planned arrival to Stella D’Mare. Here. Let's get inside.” After reminding her to grab her sword from the ground, he offered a steadying arm and aided her in the direction of Chara’s villa. When they arrived, he removed the duvet from their shared bed, waited until she was settled, and climbed in with her, pulling the thick sheet over their chilled bodies. He snuggled up from behind her, cupping his warm hands around her frigid fingers.
“That’s why I gave it to you,” he said, a soothing reassurance in her ear. “Because it’s safest under your care. Even before I found you, tonight, I knew you’d keep it close, and well-tended. Under your care, it’ll never shrivel up and die.” He held her close; soon, his eyes floated shut, and he shuttled into slumber. There, the Serpent waited, its immeasurable tongue flicking out beyond eternity.
“Will you go to my realm?” It asked. Its mountainous, rope-like coils heaving beneath the wan light of their shared dreamscape.
“Not tonight,” he said. “She needs me present. And I need her, too.”
He awoke early that morning, rummaging out of the sheets and planting his bare feet on the woven rug beneath the bed. When he returned not a half hour later, fully dressed and washed clean for the day, he carried with him a decanter filled with water. After urging Elespeth awake with a light push on her shoulder, he offered her a cup and pressed it into her hands. “Good morning,” he said, with a bright smile, an expression reserved for her, alone. He leaned forward, and kissed her on the cheek. “I’d let you sleep longer, but doesn’t your training start, after breakfast? How’s your headache? Drink if you can.” He flattened his steel palm against her forehead. It popped with white, innocuous sparks. “And I’ll soothe your ails.”
Once she drank her share of water and felt well enough to move, wash up, and dress, he lifted her sword from its position in the far corner, and lay it on the bed, opposite her. “So I haven’t detailed the additions I made to your sword, last night. I might have gotten a little ambitious," he said with an amused laugh. “I suppose it’s my version of drinking. When I’m upset, I study, or turn to some dedicated magical discipline, as a distraction. What I ended up doing, is linking the sword to my magic. By your command, it’s able to draw from my font of celestial power, and manifest through the tip of your blade. You alone can channel the magic, because you’re linked to me through our bond, and because you’ve wielded it, before. This method, however, poses far less risk, because the sword is the conduit, not your body. I’ll have to teach you how to operate its magic, before I leave. I would have needed to, anyway, so,” he ran a sheepish hand through his hair, “I’d have to break our silence, eventually...if it persisted beyond last night. Anyway,” he coughed, “it’s capable of casting shield spells, and I’d like to know for sure if it can cease the advance of a rampaging Forbanne. If you’d allow me to attend, briefly, your training session with Sigrid, we can put this into practice...using Haraldur as the ‘rampaging Forbanne.’ Just a touch of experimentation,” he hurried. “It won’t hurt him.”
“The next enchantment I’ve added is a little failsafe, in case you accidentally point your sword at an ally. It won’t inflict any harm--as long as they prick their finger on the tip of your blade, beforehand. The sword recognizes an ally by blood imprint, and any attempted attack, accidental or otherwise, will whiz past or through them, without injury. Not that I don’t trust you, Sigrid, and Haraldur’s formation, but it’s extra protection--seeing as you’re carrying weapons coated in devil’s draught.”
After breakfast, Elespeth and Alster arrived at the designated training grounds, an open space behind Main House, away from the prying eyes of the public. At noticing Elespeth’s company, Sigrid passed a pleased smile at Alster, to which he returned with an etch of a grin, and a nod. The woman from last night--Naimah--was among Haraldur and Sigrid, speaking animatedly to both. When she saw the new arrivals, she curtsied. He reciprocated with a polite bow.
“I won’t stay long,” he informed the three gathered warriors. “I have to see to Teselin’s training, but ours won’t begin until late morning; she needs her rest. But while I have the availability, I wanted to test out a few enchantments I made to Elespeth’s sword. First...be sure to prick your fingers on its tip at some point, today. This will ensure that it won’t injure you, even in close quarters. But what I’m most curious about is how it will respond to casting magic. My magic, specifically. I linked it to my life-blood, and by extension, it’s linked to Elespeth. Haraldur,” the Eyraillian prince grunted his acknowledgement, “can a shield spell affect you?”
He considered, for a moment. “I’m magic resistant, but not entirely magic repellent. Anything that penetrates the mind will do damage. As for shields...if it’s powerful enough, it might keep me at bay.”
“Would you be willing to test your resistance against a shield?”
He nodded.
Alster turned to Elespeth. “Draw your sword.” The clang of metal reverberated as she freed it from its sheath. “All you have to do is visualize a shield, El. Hold it in your mind, and reach out to my magic, as you would reach out to me. It’ll know how to materialize, because you’re accessing my knowledge and memory of the spell.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “This isn’t too dissimilar to our days in Messino’s compound unit. Trust me, and the magic will trust you, too. It’s an extension of me--like the sword is an extension of you.”
Sure enough, after a few attempts, Elespeth swung her sword and erected a shield, more of a bubble. It distorted the air around her, a slight tint of discoloration, curving outward from her feet to the crown of her head, and down again. With the go-ahead from Alster, Haraldur advanced, and swung his sword at the translucent barrier. It bounced off with a hard clang and sent him reeling backwards. Though he kept his balance, it took him a second of recovery to reposition his offensive stance. “Now stick your unarmed hand through it,” Alster said. After a moment’s hesitation, Haraldur passed his non-dominant hand towards the barrier. It did not react. The hand crossed through, followed by the forearm, the elbow, and finally, his shoulder. He tapped on Elespeth, but the bubble stayed idle. He retreated his touch. Alster watched, fingers pressed to his mouth, in thought.
“It seems like the shield will defend against Forbanne who fight with weapons, but won’t prevent their entrance into the protected space.”
“That won’t be much of a problem,” Haraldur said, twirling the hilt of his sword. “Forbanne train with blades and axes, bludgeoning weapons, polearms, on occasion, and improvised weapons--but we don’t excel at hand-to-hand combat. If Solveig resorts to her fists, we stand a greater chance at clipping her.”
His words should have touched her; she knew that he meant for them to touch her, but somehow, they only cut deeper into the sadness exacerbated by her overconsumption of alcohol. He did this for me… he is doing this for me. I did this, then… I inspired him to do this. I am the reason, and it is my fault.
Elespeth drew a shuddering breath, followed by a sob, and leaned her weight against her fiance, as if the strength were suddenly sapped from her body. “Don’t do it for me, Alster.” She breathed, her words caught between a whisper, a wheeze, and a sob. “Don’t do it for me. Not for me, not for anyone… If you need to shed your skin, if you really need to discard the parts of yourself that hurt you, or that don’t suit you… do it for yourself. You must do it for yourself, or it won’t be the change that you want it to be.” Bringing a chilled hand forward, she cupped his cheek, tears staining her face anew. “You don’t want to fall victim to the habits you are trying to leave behind. Pleasing others to no end, giving yourself away… do not do this for me. Even if you love me, I am not worth the overhaul of such change. This… this has to be for you. And…”
The former knight pressed her lips together, forming a pitiful, albeit genuine smile. “I do believe in you. I always have. If I didn’t… then this wouldn’t be so hard for me.” Shaking her head, she raked a hand through her tangle of chestnut hair. “I believe in you so much that I can hardly reconcile how or why you would ever want to change. To me, you’ve always been… perfect. You’ve always been the person that I needed in my life. And I don’t want to lose that, I don’t want… to lose you. Please…” Elespeth pressed her forehead against Alster’s shoulder. “I’m drunk and pathetic right now, and I don’t want to lose you…”
It had been a long time since she had found herself so terribly out of sorts. The last time she’d required someone’s guidance to bed, she’d witnessed her own brother’s death. Somehow, this didn’t feel particularly different, even if it were all an illusion of fear that the man she loved so dearly was endeavoring to fade to nothing… Almost forgetting her newly enchanted blade behind, Elespeth let her soft-spoken betrothed guide her back toward Chara’s villa. In her inebriated state, she wasn’t entirely sure of the way, on her own, her orientation terribly thrown off by her lack of physical coordination. The Atvanian warrior was by no means graceful as she fell into bed, forgetting to remove her boots, which Alster had kindly taken upon himself to do in her absent-mindedness.
She began to notice the chill on her skin as she closed her eyes, and Alster crawled in beside her, pressed firm and warm against her back. He was always so warm; in his words, his actions, his touch. He was her soothing balm, no matter the aliment. Whatever he became, in his metamorphosis… she hoped that this did not change. “Please don’t leave…” Elespeth wasn’t even sure what she meant by those words, and for that reason alone, she meant them in every possible context. She did need him present: physically, mentally, emotionally…
She needed him, plain and simple. Whatever ‘him’ he chose to present.
Understandably, Elespeth’s slumber was fitful, at best. Alcohol never sat well with her, for a number of reasons, but primarily she avoided overconsumption for the fact that she hadn’t slept well since leaving Atvany for the first time. When she wasn’t overtired, overburdened mentally or emotionally, her mind never stopped processing her days, and wine and grog only exacerbated that. And with everything on her mind from that day alone, every time she slipped into the lightest slumber, dreams plagued her. Not of Farrin--no, not tonight, but of Alster. He would appear to her differently, each and every time: with scales instead of skin, or with blood on his hands, or standing over Teselin’s deceased form… nightmares, all of them, and entirely irrational. One by one, her fears took on a mind of her own, and blew every terrifying possibility gruesomely out of proportion. She tossed and turned throughout the night, and when at last a gentle push on her shoulder roused her from yet another nightmare, she found her clothes and hair damp from cold sweat.
“What… what time… is it morning?” Her voice felt as hoarse as it sounded, scratchy and burning in her throat. With a groan, Elespeth sat up, pressing one hand to her forehead. In her free hand, she accepted a glass of water. Bringing it to her lips, she sipped it uncertainly. On one hand, her stomach churned at the idea of putting anything into it at all; on the other, it felt heavenly on her parched throat. “Breakfast is optional, right?” She sighed, lowering the glass with a shaky hand. “I feel like… I don’t know, like I lost a fight to a boulder that crushed my body. And started with my head.”
She didn’t protest when his hand replaced her own on her forehead. It felt cool against the flush of her skin, what had warmed up quickly beneath the duvet and next to Alster’s body, and the magic began to dispel the sharp ache in her temples and behind her eyes. With her eyes open the room moved and tilted, so she closed them to dispel the vertigo. When at last her aches and pains had subsided to a dull discomfort that was more tolerable, she finished the cup of water in her hands. “Alster… about yesterday. The things that I said--before and while I was drunk…” The Avtanian warrior looked down at her knees, still covered in the sheets of the comfortable duvet that she was loathe to leave, despite feeling more alert, now. “I didn’t mean to make you feel as though I’d… given up on you. I could never give up on you; I was just… well, I still am afraid. For you, for myself, among everything else that must occur before this chapter closes for Stella D’Mare. I’m afraid that I might not be enough to reel you back in if a venture too far into unknown territory… even with our bond renewed, I don’t know that I will be enough. And I will not know until… well, if or until it comes to pass that you venture too far. My belief is not shaken in you; it is within myself. Because I am so afraid, and so unprepared for the extent of this change.”
Reaching forward, she took her fiance’s flesh and blood hand in her own, her fingers no longer chilled as they had been the night before. “But I want you to know, whatever your decision, wherever it takes you… I will love you, I will believe in you. As long as you remain Alster Rigas.”
She smiled at him, neither forced nor uncertain, but it did outline the fatigue in her features, and the toll the change was taking on her. The outlook on their future was no longer written out for her in words that she could understand, but… regardless, they would have a future. And they would have a future together, alongside one another.
Stifling a groan, as her sluggish body protested to moving from the bed, the Atvanian warrior found a clean outfit and peeled off her clothes from the night before. Weaving her hair into a braid to keep it at bay, she splashed water on her face, though the shock of cold did nothing to brighten her pale skin or the dark circles beneath her eyes. “Sigrid is going to be up and down me if I am not focused, today…” She sighed, turning to face Alster as he picked up her blade, and began to explain its modifications. In true Alster Rigas style, the new enchantments were no small feat. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said he focused on over-the-top magic feats to alleviate stress.
“If this draws from your power, Alster… what does that do to you?” Elespeth asked, taking her blade and testing the weight in her hands. It didn’t feel or look any different, but she did note the subtle vibration in her fingertips. It wasn’t any heavier, per se, but there was more substance to the steel than there had been before. “If I do have to draw on your power, will it weaken you? I don’t want you rendered compromised, for my sake…”
Sheathing her blade, the former knight rubbed the back of her neck, stiff from an evening of drinking. “So… breakfast is optional, isn’t it?” She flashed a wan smile, but knew the answer. With a day of training ahead, working out the details of her new sword on an empty stomach was not an option. So with some reassurance from Alster, she accompanied her fiance for a light meal, before meeting the Dawn warrior and the Eyraillian prince for their scheduled training.
“Alster; a pleasure to see you, this morning.” Sigrid greeted him in a smile, temporarily stepping away from Naimah. “By all means, whatever you have to contribute will only serve to benefit us. Let’s see what Elespeth’s sword has in store for us.”
With Haraldur’s cooperation, they tested out the shielding mechanism, discovering its strengths and flaws. Evidently, it deflected weapons, but not fists; however, as the Eyraillian prince explained, Solveig was as good as theirs if she decided to resort to hand-to-hand combat, and the Forbanne weren’t likely to come at them with fists. It would have to do--and it would do just fine.
“We can work with this, can’t we?” Elespeth looked to Sigrid. “To work it into the formation? If my blade can protect us, then use me as defense, while you and Haraldur become the offense. I feel you are both better suited to that than me, anyway.”
The Dawn warrior stood, considering for a moment before offering a nod. “You might be on to something. In a formation of three, you’ll want at least two to act as offense. But if you can be our shield, then this should work perfectly. Especially considering you can still take on offense should the need arise. The challenge is knowing when that moment occurs, and learning to trust your comrades to hold their own. Which is something we are going to work on today.”
Elespeth nodded, and looked to Alster. “Looks like you made me useful in this formation, after all,” she joked. “Go and find Teselin, now. It will be lunch time in an hour; the two of you should get on her training before we lose too much daylight.”
Elespeth’s difficulty crawling out of bed that morning had nothing on Teselin’s reluctance to wake up. Mercifully, Alster hadn’t bothered her at dawn, but as the day neared noon, Hadwin had to physically shake the young summoner awake, and even then, opening her eyes was no small feat. “Is it… morning? Already?” Sitting upright, she rubbed her eyes, squinting against the onslaught of sunlight that streamed through her window in blinding waves. Hadwin’s smile almost looked a little guilty, having drawn the curtains to dissuade her from falling back asleep before she’d fully woken up.
The shapeshifter had even been so kind as to bring her a heaping plate of food for breakfast, relieving her of the task of wandering to find food on her own. To conserve every ounce of energy she had for another day of Alster’s tutelage. “Hadwin… thank you. You didn’t have to do that…” But she wasn’t so meek and humble as to pass up the meal before her. As soon as she saw the food, she realized the ravenous hunger that roared in her stomach, and made quick work of eating as much as she could. “Am I late? Is Alster waiting for me?” She fretted, pausing in her indulgence to look back at her unlikely caretaker. “I’m sorry I slept so long… I don’t know what came over me. I don’t even remember going to bed, last night… or finishing supper, for that matter. It seems I’m a mess.” She flashed an apologetic smile, took a few more bites of the meal that looked more suited to someone with Haraldur’s appetite than a young girl less than half his weight.
Slipping on her boots, Teselin stifled a yawn and tied her laces tight. “I should get going… I didn’t realize how late it was. I don’t want to disappoint Alster. And… thank you, Hadwin.” She smiled her gratitude over her shoulder. “I don’t know why you are so nice to me, but… it is nice to have a friend. No one’s ever looked out for me before, the way that you do.”
With a final nod, the young summoner slipped out, making her way toward Chara’s villa, where she hoped to find her new tutor.
Do it for yourself. You must do it for yourself.
Elespeth’s words flapped around his conscious and unconscious world. It was the phrase his mind clung to, and what his dreams spoke long after his body stilled for the night. When the Serpent slithered back into the ocean, Alster, alone on the shoreline of ruined Stella D’Mare, walked the strand, listening to the wind as it beat against his ears.
Do it for yourself, it whistled.
Therein lay his first mistake. In his determination to expand into a man he’d be proud to see in a mirror, he never reframed his purpose, never shifted his approach from without, to within. Elsepeth was right. He’d render all change meaningless if he did it in the name of another, when his crusade was for self-empowerment and self-respect. All the same, she was much a part of him, and he was not willing to go forth with any grandiose plans if he could not ensure the constancy of his essential piece: his heart. If Elespeth were to vanish from his life, all his preparations were for naught. Without her, there was no push to improve his worthiness. Without her, he’d allow himself to fade, and dwindle to nothing. Doing it for himself was doing it for her, and vice versa.
Perhaps I’ll never truly be my own entity, he thought, watching the aquamarine waves roll and sputter a misty spray into the air. But when it comes to Elespeth, I’ve accepted that. Alone, I am nothing. I awoke to this world by her arrival. She makes me stronger. For her, I can be selfish and selfless, all at once, and it will mean the same, in the end. Yes, Elespeth. I do it for you, because I exist with you. What I do to you, I do to me. By hurting you, I hurt me. To enrich our lives together, I will do whatever it takes, as long as it will ensure that you are with me, always.
Another thought keened through him like a seagull’s cry. It’s not the two of you, anymore. You’ve expanded, Alster Rigas. You are expanding. Ascending, like your namesake star. You’ve given so much away, that you’re scattered across the universe. You really have become everything to everyone. And you can reach beyond your earthly attachments--to become more. More than this mortal preoccupation to another.
You can become a god.
He awoke that morning, in a state similar to Elespeth, but for different reasons. He remembered the last of what the wind and the waves and himself had said, and the heft of information left him nursing a headache, which he hid from his lover with an easy smile. It was not complete dishonesty on his part; his smile was genuine, as were his bids to placate and cheer her mood. There was no use causing any further upset by expressing the conflicting viewpoints volleyed to him in his subconsciousness. He could make no sense of it, amid the confusion. What, and who, did he want to be?
Everything.
How did he choose?
Choose it all.
How was that possible?
Become a god.
What did that mean?
All outcomes are yours to determine.
Then, Elespeth spoke, and he startled, for she mentioned exactly what he’d been thinking. What would ‘ascending’ mean for his relationship? Was she enough to ground him, to keep him as Alster Rigas and not as some fiery comet streak in the cosmos? “Elespeth....you’ll always be enough,” he said, and a part of him meant it. The mortal, human part. “I’m made possible, because of you. This is terrifying...for the both of us. But I can’t stop. You know I can’t stop. There is no outcome in which I stand still, or fall backwards, into the past. I--we--can only move forward. But I won’t leave you behind,” he lifted her hands and kissed them both, “as long as you don’t, either. As long as we stay together. One day, we’ll walk this path as husband and wife.” A wistful note crept along the edge of his voice. “One day…”
Once she invited the change of subject, and he explained the extent of her sword’s new configurations, he shook his head at her question of weakening his stamina, were she to draw from him. A smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “It won’t be a problem,” he said. “My bond to the Serpent has made me able to withstand multitudes of spell-casting. Your attacks won’t cause a negative impact, I promise.”
Later, after they experimented with the limitations of Elespeth’s shield and its efficacy against a Forbanne soldier, Alster nodded his approval to their updated strategy. “The shield is capable of expanding to protect you three, and its bubble will move to accommodate you all--as long as Elespeth stays in the formation. You’ll have to concentrate to maintain the spell,” he told his fiancee. “But with Sigrid and Haraldur on the offensive, the brunt of the attention will be on them. If neither of us are too tired tonight, I’ll train you more on a few casting techniques, so you can take full advantage of the shield spell, with little effort.”
Haraldur tested the point of his blade with a callused finger. “Would you be able to enchant me a weapon, to prevent me from stabbing my allies? I always worry I’m going to put a sword to the wrong person. I’ve done it too often. Knowing I can circumvent a horrible accident, with the proper gear…” he rubbed at the scar tissue along his killing hand, “it’ll help my peace of mind, more than anything.”
“Of course, Haraldur,” Alster said, in an understanding tone. “I’ll outfit you with whatever you need. Same goes for you, Sigrid. Come see me tonight, with the weapons you want enchanted, and I’ll make it happen. For now, it looks like I’ve expended my use, here.” He took a few retreating steps. “It’s the success of your formation that will work the best magic, but barring that, or supplementing that,” he quirked a smile, “a little bit of actual magic won’t hurt your odds.” Before heading on his way, he planted Elespeth a quick kiss. “You’ve always been useful, El. For so long, you’ve acted as my shield. Now, you can become a literal shield.”
After punching out a tree for a good half hour, Hadwin slumped down to its base and flopped his decimated hands on the pine needle-covered forest floor. Not only were the knuckles busted, exposing bone, splintered tree gristle, and ravaged skin, but he’d succeeded in breaking his left wrist. With a forceful crack, he reset the dislodged sections of bone, using the heel of his other hand for leverage. Owing to the ardors of transformation, breaks and fractures were quickest to heal; already, the sensation of knitting and reattaching shuddered through the affected area, revitalizing what minutes ago was a grisly injury. Once he could move his fingers again, he pulled out his pipe, but a familiar voice, and her familiar silhouette among the trees, discouraged him from partaking.
“Oh, Hadwin,” Fiona cooed, “do you hate me so much that mere mention of me to uninitiated company has you all in a violent tizzy? Aren’t you happy I’ve kept my spirit alive for you? I may be dead, but I’ll never die.” When he didn’t respond, the shadow of her head cocked to one side. “Why, this is uncommon. I’ve rendered you speechless. Are you still sore that you put your particular predicament into words and shared them with a person who rankles you, so? I’m afraid, though, that you have it all wrong. I’m not a ghost of vengeance. You avenged me, in a glorious, messy show of blood and gore. Beautiful; I couldn’t be more proud. No--I’m here to continue our work that we started so long ago.” The shadows deepened as she grinned. “You want to be above your fear. So allow me to remind you. To show you.” Her gray-gold eyes glowed in the night, and shadows grew, engulfed, and wafted from the ground in great gouts of black smoke. The smoke inundated his eyes, blinding him.
His world of horrors began.
“No,” he growled, low in his throat. “Can’t I have one fucking night of peace!?”
“If you run, you’re a coward,” Fiona’s voice taunted from behind the blindfold pall.
“Then I’m a coward!” With that, he curled his newly-recovered hand into a fist, and punched himself in the face until the images sloshed, guttered, and upended, spilling from him like a goblet of wine. He punched until lightheadedness overtook him, and the moon spun overhead and his eyes lolled back. As he fell to an unconscious crumble on the ground, the last he heard was Fiona’s derisive laughter.
“My poor, sweet pup. If you can’t handle it, you’re free to join me in death.”
He awoke that morning, groggy and languid. Though all traces of his wounds were gone, with only the incriminating patches of dried blood as proof of self-injury, he rose from the forest floor with a searing headache. Clutching his temple, he stumbled out from the trees and clawed his bottom eyelids open, in a strategy to awaken from his stupor.
After eating his fill at breakfast, which improved recovery, somewhat, even though he stomached little and kept his portion size to a minimum, he carried his secondary tray of food to Teselin’s chambers and whiled away the hours curled up on her bed as a wolf. When the sun threatened to immolate the curtains with its fulminating loudness, he hopped off the bed, transformed to his human skin, threw on his clothes, and woke the summoner.
“Rise and shine. The mole’s been in her burrow too long.” She blinked into consciousness, and he handed her the plate of food. “So it’s late morning, almost lunch, but not like that matters, because if I tried to rouse you any earlier, I’d have better luck rising a corpse from the dead. I know that’s your brother’s thing, but maybe I’ve got a hidden talent swirling around in this fucked up head of mine,” he chuckled. “Anyway, the snake-charmer hasn’t come looking for you, so you’re golden. Best reemerge into society, though, before the day’s a bust. Don’t beat yourself over it, though. Can’t do your magic if you’re too blasted to stand.”
She had one hell of an appetite, though--a holdover from last night. In minutes, she’d near-devoured her plate, short of licking it clean. He moved the tray aside and leaned against the window while she prepared for her training with Alster.
“You know, there’s a saying out there. Something about kindness going a long way. You saw the good in a scoundrel. Gave him the benefit of the doubt. It flatters me, kid. Figured I’d return the kindness. But don’t be spreading that around about me, or I’ll lose my credibility.” His mouth spread into a toothy grin, but it held more sincerity than teeth. “Now go on--and don’t keel over.” He saw her to the door and waved her goodbye. When she disappeared down the hallway, he hunkered on the edge of her bed. One day, the world’s gonna break her, he thought, with a sigh.
Teselin found Alster sitting in a woven chair on the portico of Chara’s villa. At her arrival, he stood and ushered her up the stairs, greeting her with a smile. “How are you faring this morning? I didn’t want to disturb your rest. I must apologize for yesterday,” his head dipped contritely. “I worked you too hard. While we’re on a time constraint, it makes no sense for me to push you beyond your limits, and render you ineffectual for the upcoming day. Elespeth spoke to me about your training last night, and we both agreed it’ll be best for us to practice a steady pacing, with room enough for breaks and recovery. You must let me know if the strain is too heavy for you to bear. If you take on too much before you’re ready, you’re liable to severely injure yourself--and others.”
He invited her to take his place on the chair he vacated while he lectured on what she expected to learn. “I’ve calculated the dimensions of our ideal tidal wave, one best able to deal the most damage to Mollengard’s fleet. It’ll only affect lower Stella D’Mare, which is perfect, because that’s where their camps are predominately prevalent. I’ve also determined the angle and speed of the surge. Before we train, I’ll share this information with you, both on paper, and in your mind’s eye, when I project you an image. Later, we’ll practice as we did on the terrace. Depending on our progress today, we may leave the estate, away from the dampening of your magic. Though, we’ll have to exercise caution. We’ll be open to Mollengardian scrutiny, but I’ll conceal us from view and mute our sound. Remember,” his voice took on a solemn ring, “if at any time you feel faint, or need to rest, please inform me. I won’t hold it against you. Even if you say nothing, chances are,” he smiled knowingly, “I’ll make you stop, anyway.”
“You think you’ll be able to do this? Enchant two more weapons in the time that we have, on top of training Teselin?” Elespeth ventured to ask before Alster took his leave. She remembered what he had told her earlier that morning; that his bond with the Serpent allowed him near unlimited access to magic whose source he could not possibly exhaust. But it was not the magic that concerned her; rather, it was the wielder. Alster was not dying anymore, and in his link to the Serpent, he was far less fragile a being; and, perhaps… slightly less human. But he was still Alster Rigas. And Alster Rigas was not a god. She only hoped that he realized this--and that he did not extend too far beyond his means. “Make sure you don't exhaust yourself. You are as important in this plan as any other.”
She returned his kiss and watched his retreat, a knot in her chest that would not untangle. Just live to see the day that we will be husband and wife… she thought quietly, sending her sentiment down her bond with as much concentration that she could muster. Do not leave me for that other world… as enticing as it might be. He said he would not abandon her--and she believed him. But there was no way to predict that Stella D’Mare would ever be the same, that is could ever be restored to the life that its denizens so wanted to return to. Or that she would continue to measure up to be the grounding force that would encourage him not to leave for another world, entirely…
“Well, now that I've got a better established role in all of this,” the Atvanian warrior turned back to Sigrid and Haraldur, her partners in training. Shall we try to incorporate it into the formation?”
“I believe we can. Have you come with a clearer mind, today?” The Dawn warrior asked, and smiled at Elespeth’s confirming nod. “Good. So in this case, Elespeth, you are going to need to trust our skills as offense--and we will trust in you, wholly, to be our shield. And Haraldur,” She turned to the former mercenary, “you and I must be fully aware of one another’s movement. This way, we will not hinder one another, but we will complement each other. I become an extension of you, you become an extension of me, and Elespeth is our collective umbrella of safety. I think that we can pull this off.”
They worked for hours after Alster had left, practising as best they could without actual Forbanne (or anyone, for that matter) posing as an enemy. As the sun threatened to set on the horizon, Sigrid finally called an end to their training. Chill had begun to set into the evening air, and sweat-soaked as they were, they were liable to take I'll if they did not change their damp clothes. But it was not without a sense of accomplishment that they parted, this time. “Good--that was good. There are some minor details that we need to work out, but we are getting there.” She said with a smile. “Haraldur, you did far better today. You trusted my sword and I trusted yours, and as a result, you were able to anticipate my movement. And Elespeth,” her smile softened rather knowingly. “Your mind was where it should be. Tomorrow, we’ll refine what we’ve got, but today, the two of you have both shown great promise with your Dawn warrior skills. There may yet be a place among us for the both of you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, if being a Rigas doesn't pan out,” Elespeth joked. But that fear… there was still that fear that it might not turn out to be a joke. She couldn't allow herself to think about it. “But just the other night, I inherited hundreds of years of life to spend with my fiancé. So I think it only right to see that gift through. Speaking of…”
The Atvanian warrior sheathed her blade behind her shoulder. “I’ll go and see what else he can show me about using the sword’s enchantments. I’ll see the both of you tomorrow, then?” With a final smile, she left to do just that. If Alster had kept his promise to go easier on Teselin, and enforce more breaks and rest time, then the two of them should be done by now.
At some point during their training, Naimah had understandably left to attend to other matters, but Sigrid was surprised to find she’d returned as their training sessions drew to an end. “Well? Were you impressed?” She asked, flashing a teasing grin. “Or should I flex my muscles more next time? I’m surprised you came back, but… I cannot say I am disappointed. On the contrary, your presence here did seem to encourage luck, in our favor. We made progress, today. And whatever domestic dispute Elespeth and Alster were going through… well, they seem to have worked it out. Now, if you’re willing to wait long enough for me to bathe and smell a little less like a warrior,” Sigrid chuckled, “I’d love if you’d allow me to accompany you to dinner.”
Teselin hadn't wasted any time in her search for Alster. She found him in Chara’s Villa, presumably waiting for her, but he did not seem impatient at her arrival. “Alster. Forgive me if I’ve kept you waiting.” She apologized anyway, and bowed her head out of respect. “I’m quite well, today. I slept for a long time, evidently, and I had a good meal this morning. I’m fine and ready to pick up from where we left off, yesterday.”
Colour crept into her cheeks at his mention of his conversation with Elespeth. So the former knight had been serious about enforcing her new rules… The irrational part of her couldn’t help but harbour some disdain for Alster’s fiancee, and her bossy demeanor. She could see why Hadwin simply didn’t get on with her. But… even the shapeshifter had recognized that her bossiness was coming from a place of care. And that someone cared for her enough to take her life and well-being into consideration was nothing to scoff at. “It wasn’t your fault,” she sputtered, nonetheless. “Really. We might have gone on for too long, but… but I was really determined, Alster. For the first time in my life, I could see… no, I could feel improvements in every attempt I made. It was amazing. You’re the first person who’s actually been able to help me, and it is working.” A smile brightened her face. “Honestly, I didn’t even really notice how tired I was… which, I realize now, is dangerous. I should have been taking the time to check myself. But it was just so… It was so exciting. The feeling that I can actually make a difference. That it isn’t just some flight of fancy…”
The young summoner shook her head, dislodging that dangerous reinforcer that was her own pending success. “But you are right, of course. As is Elespeth. I cannot be of any use to anyone if I am not standing. So… I will pace myself today. Although, I’d love to see what you have imagined, in terms of the tidal wave. If I can have a visual, an image in my mind of what I must manifest, then it will take a lot of the guess work out of the endeavor. And if I’m too far gone with the task at hand to realize I’m pushing myself too far… feel free to stop me. I’ll take whatever advice you could offer.”
After Alster projected the image of the ideal height and breadth of the wave that he anticipated would be ideal for this feat, they picked up practicing from the terrace of Chara’s villa, still beneath the magic-suppressing atmosphere of the Rigas estates. Like before, it did not appear to take much of a toll on the young summoner, at first. She followed Alster’s directives, pulling up waves and manipulating the tides as he saw fit, but after some time had passed, their frequent breaks to rest did not seem to be enough for her to replenish her strength. And when the Rigas caster began to notice the beads of sweat gathering on her brow, and how her shoulders seemed to droop under an invisible pressure, as good as his word, he bid her to stop.
Following a lengthy break and a snack large enough to tide her over until supper, that was when he suggested they take the remaining hours of their training outside. To where she would not be working under the strain of suppressed magic, and where he would be able to witness the full extent of her skills--within reason, of course. Mollengard would still be highly alert, and the success of this feat was entirely contingent on their ignorance of the young summoner’s existence, let alone her devastating abilities.
Fully aware that without the dampening effects of the Rigas estate, her magic might well rage, Teselin did exert great caution as Alster took her to a different vantage point, albeit one where the sea was still visible. It was some time, however, before she was able to manipulate the water to his liking. It was evident in the bright sheen of her dark eyes that fear held her back; that she would take it too far, that someone would get hurt, or that Mollengard would take notice. At that point, there was nothing that Alster could do for her to assuage her fears, despite promising the two of them were shielded from the enemy’s view. Only Teselin could find it in herself just how much lead she could allow her magic to take, without risking it running completely rampant, and fulfilling yet another fear-induced prophecy that she would be responsible for the harm or death of innocent people. And that was where her progress halted, for the day.
“I’m sorry… I guess I just don’t know how much to let go.” The young summoner looked down at her feet, too ashamed to look Alster in the eye. “From the villa, I wasn’t afraid to let my power extend more… because it was more difficult for me to use magic. I didn’t think it would get out of control so easily, but without that buffer… I’m sorry. Yesterday I got so far, yet now I’m too afraid to try hard enough…” She shook her head, and scratched the back of her neck. “But I’ll have to get over that. I don’t think I’ll be able to summon the wave from the confines of the villa… at least, not without a good chance of hurting myself. Here… I know I can do it. I can feel it. And that is what scares me.”
Inhaling long and slow, Teselin rolled her shoulders back, trying to look more determined, and less dejected than she actually felt. “Tomorrow. I know we’re running out of time, but… I’ll meditate on this, tonight. Tomorrow… I’ll show you that I can make it happen, Alster. I promise.”
This time, the young summoner was able to depart from their training session without the need for someone else to hold her up. Her body ached and her knees still felt weak from her use of magic, especially during her time within the villa, but she was able to make it independently to where supper was being served, sans escort. It was there that she spotted Hadwin, but the wolf man was not partaking in a meal of his own, or bantering with any of their shared (or otherwise) acquaintances. He sat, mute and still beneath a tree, a faraway and almost contemplative expression on his features. Unsure as to whether or not he had yet eaten, Teselin filled a plate for herself, and another one for him, before heading his way. She offered the second plate with a smile, before taking a seat next to him. “You didn’t look as though you’d eaten yet, so… here. I took a gamble.”
When he accepted the plate with thanks, she merely shrugged, and began to put a dent in her plate of food. “One good deed deserves another, as you pointed out this morning. Though you were wrong about one thing, you know: you’re not a scoundrel. We all walk through life to survive, and we all learn different means of survival. Yours is just… well, a little more unorthodox.” Teselin chuckled, but her smile was short-lived, especially when he asked her about her training that day. “I… failed, in a sense, I suppose. As soon as we left the villa, without the dampening effects of the Rigas estate, I was too afraid to give my magic the space it needed. So, I suppose you can say, fear held me back again.”
She took another few bites from her plate with a flat smile and shook her head. “Anything could happen. I could give my powers an inch and they could take a mile… and I am running out of time to learn how to curb it. As an expert on fear, an advice you can give…” Teselin looked to him, with her trusting, dark eyes. “I’d appreciate it. More than you know… If there is at all anything else you can tell me that might help.”
Alster answered Elespeth’s question with a firm nod. “Yes. It won’t take long to enchant the weapons that you need, on top of training Teselin, and assisting in the evacuation.” He eased off any concerned glances with a shrug. “I like to keep busy. I won’t exhaust myself,” he withdrew and wandered from their warrior trio. “No need to worry.”
Midway between the makeshift training ground and Chara’s villa, Alster stopped. A message screamed into his inner ears with such earnestness that he clutched his temple and flinched. Elespeth.
I hear you, he replied, in a softer tone, a demonstrative encouragement for her to do the same. All too well. The last of her statement, however, gave him pause. Had he mentioned his attraction to the Serpent’s realm? No. Not to anyone. The Serpent alone was privy to his eagerness in traveling to Its far-off world. Unconsciously, she must know. With the reestablishment of their bond, there was little he could hide from her.
I’m here, he continued. And if I should go, at any point...I’ll return. Always, I’ll return for you. Keep me to this promise.
Until dusk, the trio tested their new formation, with Elespeth in between, as defense. Now with better established roles, and a clearer idea of Sigrid’s expectations, Haraldur concentrated his focus to the needs of the formation. He likened Sigrid to a duplicate of himself, a mirror reflected back to him by the shield that Elespeth embodied. Her movements were his movements. His foot swerved in concurrence to her own--equal but opposite. At one point, he even noticed their breaths were in synchronicity, the bellowing mouth heave of overexertion, which inflated and deflated their chests in convex and concave patterns. The phenomenon didn’t last long, but nonetheless, it didn’t escape his attention. At training’s end, Haraldur sheathed his sword, and listened to Sigrid’s assessment, the criticisms as well as the praise. “The new formation gave me a better visualization,” he said, swiping back his sweat-greased hair from his forehead. “With Elespeth between us, I imagined you as my mirror, Sigrid. I mean, I had to really suspend my disbelief to think we were one and the same.” He smirked and pinched her much thinner arm, in comparison. “No offense--but my mind got a little stuck on looking past the fact that I’m not a skinnier blonde woman. But I chalk that up to my lack of imagination.”
Before Elespeth retired for the evening, he unclipped a shortsword and a bastard sword from his baldric, sheath and all. “Give these to Alster to enchant. If he has the time,” he said. “If he can do only one, I’d prefer the bastard sword. I know that today was all about symmetry in our formation, but I’m thinking it’ll throw Solveig off guard if she has to figure in swords of different lengths and styles coming at her at once. So I’ll rely on this heavier, longer blade for the job.”
When the newly-minted Rigas departed with his sword in tow, Haraldur was next to bid Sigrid a good evening, and wandered off in search of food and a good bath. By then, Naimah reemerged on the path from whence the Eyraillian prince had come. On this day, she was wearing another modest dress with a long hem and loose, but form-fitting bodice. She wore her hair braided and wrapped in a tight bun, with a few stray curls framing her painted face. “Perhaps a little less muscle flexing, and a little more demonstration,” she teased, bounding forward to kiss the warrior on the cheek in greeting. “No--your instruction was illuminating in its clarity. Your warriors responded well, especially towards the end. If your collective movements are but an ounce of a Dawn Warrior’s competency, then I would love to see you in action with your brothers and sisters. Feel free to impress me with more of your training, and less with the elevated machismo.” The cupid’s bow of her lips bent upwards, taut as an arrow about to fly. “You would not believe the flood of clients who thought that feeling the cut of their muscles was engaging foreplay.”
At Sigrid’s suggestion of dinner, Naimah’s smile loosened, an easier, sloppier look--and hence, more genuine. “Seems all I do for you is wait,” she laughed. “Go forth and bathe, but in the meantime, I am not missing my opportunity for the best sampling of food, by withholding my spot on the queue. So yes, I will wait, but on a proper line, and not for a smelly warrior.” She pulled from the warrior’s touch and sashayed to the food pavilion with an exaggerated swaying of her hips. “I’ll save you a plate.”
When the young summoner mustered up an apology for him, followed by a string of reasons for why his tutelage was important to her and her magical development, Alster’s polite smile maintained itself, but his eyes cycled through a series of different reactions. First, a mixed combination of wistfulness and pity. Teselin acted too much like his young self: wide-eyed, hopeful, desperate for approval, determined to make a difference, and to understand her greater purpose. No, he thought. I’m still like that, in a few key ways. Nothing has changed. I’m pitying myself, here--and mourning the person I wish to destroy. Second, a warmth stilled the aquamarine waters of his eyes, calming them into a limpid lagoon. He was making a difference in this young girl’s life. The first to help her understand. Suddenly, he transitioned back to the man, the boy, he wished to destroy, and an over-emotional brightness lifted the laden weight of his always cumbersome prosthesis. He opened his mouth, and an enthusiasm which rivaled her own spilled and tumbled into a vivacious string of words.
“It is, isn’t it? Connecting with your magic for the first time.” He closed his eyes, in memory. “I remember my first success, as a child. There was an all-encompassing sensation of...rightness. As though, for years, I’d been living with a missing component, and using the correct combination of my magic, feeling it truly, in my fingers, and through my veins, erupting from the crown of my head...that was the magic. More than what I ended up casting. I felt whole, and in sync with the broader expanse of the universe.” He opened his eyes and held her hands, the energy beneath his skin humming with delight. “I’m glad you felt it, too. I’m glad I could show you, even if but a taste, of a harmonious connection to your magic. Today, we’ll continue to explore your peaks, as well as your limitations.” He clapped his steel hand together with his flesh and blood hand, creating a sharp, bassy sound. “Let’s get started.”
After prising the image of the tidal wave to her mind like crushing a flower between the covers of a book, Alster invited the summoner to the terrace and they resumed their training from yesterday. While he adopted a much more forgiving approach, sprinkled with encouragements and frequent breaks, he persisted in a firm but fair method, as indicative of many of his Rigas instructors--barring Debine, whose tactics, while effective, were damaging to the psyche, as he could well attest. Why he ended up exhibiting her cruelty, even if it was only a sampling of the woman’s harsh and abusive edicts, he hadn’t a clue, aside from the reasons he shared with Elespeth: he wanted to beat the ‘Alster’ out of Teselin, the side so willing to give herself away out of a misplaced sense of belonging: to her peers, to the world, to the self-destructive side of her that insisted she sacrifice, because it was the sole way to live alongside her unpredictable magic, without drowning in guilt and fear. Even now, he yearned to warn her of this path, for it could be brutal, and unforgiving. Alas, all he could do was teach, and lecture, but she alone was in charge of how she steered her life, and its accompanying magic.
At the conclusion of their mid-afternoon break, Alster led Teselin through the guarded gates of the Rigas estate, securing the appropriate clearance from the men on duty, and, before passing her into Mollengardian territory, he outfitted them with the gossamer casting of a concealment spell, and muted their voices and movements with the auditory equivalent. Together, they climbed to a ridge at the edge of town, a secretive spot where only locals tread. From his scouting of the area, no Mollengardians had claimed the area in their name. To be safe, he maintained their celestial cloak. Once they were safely atop the ridge, which afforded a wide vista of the ocean, Alster turned to Teselin.
“This is where Chara will take you, in four days’ time. This crag allows one of the best views of the ocean from Old Town, and of the shoreline. We won’t stay here long, today. This is just to prepare you for tomorrow, and the coming days. We’re only continuing what we practiced on the terrace, but now, you’re unhampered by the estate’s suppression. The same methods apply, Teselin. All that’s changing is your access. Remember what we practiced in your inner mind. You can shut away all unneeded energies by reversing your polarity, turning attraction into repulsion. We’ll practice more of these concepts tomorrow, along with summoning the tidal wave in the safety of your own mental space. But for now,” he nodded towards the ocean, “concentrate on what we’ve learned, so far.”
Progress was slow, and the inertia, a marked difference from within the confines of the Rigas estate. After an hour of consistent practice, Alster, witnessing the frustration, defeat, and fear dripping from young Teselin’s face like drops of sweat (and there were literal drops of sweat in a sheen across her brow), he concluded their training for the day.
“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, his tone all too understanding. “Teselin,” he took one hand in his flesh and bone hand, squeezing it reassuringly, “this is part of the process. We have good days, and we have off days. We can only make progress when we fail, and if we don’t fail at the inception of a new endeavor, we won’t grasp the lesson as we’re meant to. Fear is natural and inevitable. In fact, I expected you to hold back. Would have been disappointed if you didn’t. It shows you have a fair grasp at restraint. Many people in your same situation would have done the same, because there’s more for you to lose than to gain, when pulling off your restraints. You understand that, both innately and consciously. That’s what I mean by failing in order to understand the lesson. Your summoning of this tidal wave is all about control. Being able to summon the same caliber of waves from before, and so seamlessly, without any hiccup or struggle, would have undermined our teachings, here.” He looked her in the eyes, making sure she absorbed the solemnity of his statement. “Fail, Teselin. Fail with me. Fail here, and fail often...so you won’t fail, later. Take it from someone who was never allowed to fail. Once I did...I fell apart. Learn from my mistake, and fail, when you still have the chance.”
They returned to the estate in time for supper. After dispersing his dual concealment spells, he dismissed Teselin at the gates, congratulating her on a hard day at work, and promising to resume, first thing in the morning. When she approached Hadwin with an additional plate of food, he gave her a mellow smile and waved with the slightest wiggle of his fingers. His other hand clutched a different sort of pipe, more elongated, and made of bamboo and brass fittings. “Ah, lookie; it’s the kid.” His speech patterns were slow and muddled, almost uncoordinated. As she joined him beside the tree, he attempted to sit up from his slouched position against the coarse, scratchy bark. He succeeded, but still hung from the side of the trunk as though about to faceplant into the grass. “‘Scuse my aesthetic. Found out I had a little more opium stashed in a hidey hole. So when I returned from my reconnaissance, I figured I’d have myself some much-earned rest and relaxation.” Having given up his vertical posture, he slid from the tree to lay on his side. With one hand, he picked at the plate Teselin had offered to him, but didn’t eat anything substantial.
“Aah, don’t lie to yourself,” he chuckled, though it manifested as a series of staccatoed hums. “I like the sound of ‘scoundrel’ anyway. Sounds like ‘mongrel.’ The mongrel scoundrel. Slap those words together and it’s like one big grooowl,” he growled the word, for emphasis. “Nah, don’t you worry, pup. I am a scoundrel. Just not to you. At least I think I’ve kept you from the worst of it. Anyway,” he blinked, and glanced up at her from his grounded vantage point, “how was your training with the snake-charmer?”
He listened as she expressed her failures spurred on by her fears and he nodded, closing his eyes. A sudden stillness indicated that he’d fallen asleep, but then his mouth moved into speech. “A lot of people don’t like to think this way, but fear isn’t a thing to be conquered. You’re supposed to live with it. If you concentrate too much on stopping it from attending your big tidal event, it’s going to crash your party with a vengeance, because it hates being dismissed. Fuck, did I ever learn that the hard way,” he roared out a laugh, enjoying a private joke. “Accept that it’s here to stay, and listen to what it has to say. You don’t have to follow its advice, but give it some room to complain. Everyone fears losing control. It’s universal. One of the, if not the most common fear out there, under which all other fears fall. Anyway,” he rolled over to his back, “let it join you in your summoning. Give it a good time. It’ll yell and scream and beg you to stop, for sure, but that infinitely easier to handle than the far more sinister rumblings of a fear you’ve snubbed and mistreated. That kind of fear will pounce, and bite, and squeeze you dry.” He opened one eye and raised his hand above his head, the hand he broke by punching a tree the other night--good as new. “You can’t be a victim to fear. Gotta be its friend. If not its friend, then a colleague. It’ll be a pretty damn annoying one, friend or colleague. But, like our bossy Rigas-fucker out there, she’s concerned. Deeply concerned. And in pain.”
Teselin had left her training with Alster in an entirely different mood, this time, compared to yesterday. It had more to do than with the fact she was able to hold herself up on her own two feet without aid; it was in the way that Alster hadn’t turned an eye of disappointment on her, despite her failure. Yesterday, she had been dragged away before their training had officially adjourned--for good reason, of course, but it had left her wondering what more she could have accomplished. Left her wondering, deep into her dreams, if Alster Rigas would look twice at a pupil who could hardly continue to stand on her own after a day of working her magic. Perhaps she invested too much concern in approval; in wanting, in needing to be useful to a cause, but that was another issue for another day, and another time. Regardless, she hadn’t met with someone who had ceased believing in her, today. Even in light of her stunted progress toward the end, he’d shown her understanding--and offered a ray of hope that now was the time to fail, and that failure was not only expected, but necessary.
Instead of departing with the weight of a useless nobody on her shoulders, Alster had empowered her. Fail, when you still have a chance, he’d told her. It is all part of the process. Maybe… maybe she was on the right path, after all. And she hadn’t been wrong or delusional about yearning to meet the infamous Alster Rigas. He was the guidance she needed--at least, until she reunited with Vitali, when blood could guide blood, again.
Nonetheless, doubts still filled her chest and tugged her heart like heavy weights. Of course, all were self-inflicted, realizing the nature of her own fear and knowing the possibility existed that her endeavor to help might bring about a swifter end to the city of Stella D’Mare. And who better than to talk about fear, that with an expert?
She knew that Hadwin would listen. Despite his reputation, he was kind, and patient with her, and he listened without judgment. It was only fair that in return she listened and treated him without judgment; a plate of food was the least she could do. “So… do I just… disregard it? Act as though it isn’t holding me back?” The young summoner hunkered down on her knees and stuffed another several forkfuls of food into her mouth, almost feeling hungrier the more she ate, if that was even possible. It had never occurred to her that her magic ate up so much of her body’s resources. “Alster said… that right now, it is good to fail. It is okay for me to fail, and that I should, so that I know how not to fail when it counts. It is just so difficult to ignore the fact that I have brought terror and destruction onto people… without even trying to incite my magic.”
Teselin sighed, putting down her plate of food, and pushing Hadwin’s closer toward him. “Come on, Hadwin, whatever’s in your pipe isn’t going to replace actual nourishment,” she chided him gently, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Anyway… I understand what you mean. There is no getting rid of fear because there is no possibility that I will ever be entirely safe from… myself. No guarantee I’ll never lose control. But I can’t live my life, afraid of myself, afraid of what might happen. I don’t want to live that life… Alster may not be able to help me beyond summoning this wave, you may not be able to help me beyond helping me understand what my fear means, but I can’t put my life and existence on hold, because of that.”
Pausing to finish what was on her plate, the young summoner leaned her head back against a tree, relishing the feeling of a full stomach for the first time in a long time.
“That’s what it’s about, though, isn’t it? Learning to live with fear; not to defeat it or have it go away. If only it were as easily done as it is said… but I’m going to do it. I have no choice. Today, I was too afraid to make the water move. Tomorrow…” She stared ahead, at the calm sea. The sea whose tides she was going to harness, against its will, and cause it to rage. “I’m still going to be afraid. But tomorrow, I’ll be successful. That will be the difference.”
Glancing at him sidelong, Teselin’s gaze softened. “Are you all right, Hadwin? It’s not like you not to have a voracious appetite, and you’ve hardly touched your meal…” A soft smile touched her lips. “If you want company, I don’t have any plans for the rest of the evening. And I owe you for all the times you’ve kept the foot of my bed warm.” From absolutely anyone else, those words could have meant something very different, especially to someone as loose as Hadwin. But coming from the young summoner, there was no mistaking that it was merely a show of her concern for his well-being; just as innocently as he was concerned for hers.
Having obliged Haraldur and taken his weapons for Alster to enchant, Elespeth set out to find him immediately after her training with Sigrid and Haraldur had adjourned. She made for Chara’s villa, but upon arriving, he didn’t appear to be there. Probably out finding something to eat before dinner rations were depleted, she figured, and knew that if she were wise, she’d be doing the same thing. But despite the toll of her day-long training, and the restless night of sleep from the night before, the allure of a warm bath to wash the day off of her seemed more appealing.
Placing Haraldur’s weapons next to one of the settees in the waiting area, she retired to the bathing chamber and drew herself a bath, discarding her training garb in a heap on the floor. As much as she wanted to put it out of her mind, to make herself believe it was not worth her concern, she couldn’t help but wonder at the details of Teselin’s own training, today. She hadn’t seen the girl or her shapeshifting companion since yesterday, and had no way of knowing if Alster had been able to keep to his word. To tone back the unintentional brutality he’d shown the young summoner the other day. I don’t want to think of him like this…
With a soft groan, she sank into the warm water and closed her eyes. She didn’t need to worry; she shouldn’t worry. This was Alster--her Alster, the Alster Rigas that would always be there, despite the presence of the Serpent and the threat that it posed in its determination to influence him, to change him into something he was not. Something she knew he did not want to be… It isn’t going to happen--I am not going to lose him. She had to believe it… even if so much stood to make her believe otherwise.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been soaking before she heard someone enter through the main entrance. It could have been anyone; Chara or Lysander, but she had seen very little of the two of them since the evening of her naming ceremony. Standing from the tub of water (which, without some sort of magic to keep it warm, had gone rather cold), the former knight dried herself off and donned a simple cotton tunic and leggings. Much though she wanted to lie down and give her body (not to mention, her mind) a rest, her day had not come to a close to warrant reprieve just yet.
Air whooshed from her lungs in a heavy sigh when she saw that it was Alster who had returned, and not one of the other Rigases, who might have judged her more harshly for obviously looking as though she’d spent an hour in the bath. She hadn’t even bothered to braid her damp tressed of chestnut hair, which hung down her shoulders and back, leaving streaks of wet fabric in their wake. “I wondered where you were,” she admitted with a half smile, rubbing the back of her neck. “I hope you got some supper, tonight. I thought about it, but… smelling less like a warrior was more enticing. And I couldn’t find the willpower to drag myself out of the bath.”
Crossing the room, she touched the two blades that Haraldur had given to her for her fiance to enchant. “Haraldur requested you enchant these for him, if you have the time. So that he is not at risk of injuring an ally, should things get out of hand. Though I realize you’ve probably had a long day of training, as well, so he amended that if you can only imbue one with magic, he prefers the bastard sword.”
Elespeth picked up the heavy weapon, holding it in her hands, feeling its foreign weight. It always impressed her to find warriors that could wield heavy weapons; no matter how much she strained or how much muscle she put on her arms and legs, she was trained to excel with lighter blades. It did not make her feel lesser, per se, just… limited. “How did it go today, by the way? Teselin’s training?” The topic made her feel uneasy, particularly considering how it had gone over yesterday. But it was that very discomfort that forced her to confront it: to hear from Alster, himself, how the young summoner had fared, what had gone over, whether progress had been made, and at what expense. Because she trusted him, and she trusted his honesty. Frankly, she wasn’t sure that either of them was able to lie to the other, anymore. Not with the strength of their bond. “Has she made any more progress?” Is she all right? Was the question she wanted to ask, but knew better than to trigger Alster’s defense mechanisms. Last night had been difficult, on so many levels; she didn’t want an encore.
To her relief, Alster detailed what had taken place, and none of what he said seemed fabricated, exaggerated, or downplayed. Elespeth could feel her shoulders relax. So he had kept his word, about not pushing the summoner too far beyond her physical capabilities. This was the Alster she knew and loved. The Alster that cared, so deeply, for those who depended on him. “I’m glad you said that to her.” With a smile, she rested a hand on his arm. “Part of what drives that girl, I think, is her determination not to fail… so experiencing failure now, in a safe place when it won’t affect an outcome, might be exactly what she needs. You… are exactly what she needs.” Taking his arm, she pulled him into a gentle embrace. “I knew you would be. She can think what she wants about her diabolical brother, but she won’t find a better tutor than you for what she needs.”
And Teselin was not the only one who needed him. As she drew away, she picked up her own blade, newly enchanted, and handled it with care. “I realize that suddenly everyone either wants or needs a piece of you,” she amended proactively, with an apologetic grin, “but you did mention something about showing me how to use this thing to cast. If you think you have the time and energy to show me how to draw on your power, then I’d be much obliged. If not--focus on Haraldur’s weapons, and I’d be happy to revisit this another time. I don’t want you to exhaust yourself.”
Hadwin trained his eyes to the sky. A soft, pink filter brushed across the clouds while daylight blinked into twilight. “Nah, you don’t disregard it. Never disregard a fear. No matter how petty or ridiculous it is. The more you disregard, the more it’ll begin showing in the form of something else. Something hidden, maybe innocuous. Your fear will become habitual. You’ll think it’s part of who you are. That’s how it ingrains itself; by shifting into the guise of a different truth. For example,” he traced the outlines of the clouds, “you may think you’re too lazy to get out of bed and start your day, when really, you’re afraid of disappointing the people who rely on you to get things done and in order. Easier to say you’re too lazy to move than to say you’re afraid of what’s outside the safety of your chambers. Simply, you acknowledge the fear. And don’t act like you’re unbothered by it. Fears can smell deception.” He squinted one eye shut and pressed his thumb over the rising moon, blotting it out of existence.
“The key is to approach the problem differently, with your understanding of the present, rather than your misgivings about the future, what can go wrong, or what has gone wrong. You can’t control what’s out there. But you can control how you choose to act. Of course, it’s easy to know what you gotta do. I can talk about fears all day and you’d have a grade A understanding of its inner workings. But when it comes to implementing these ideas,” he let his arm drop to the grass, “fuck, it’s difficult. Let you in on a secret,” he raised his head to look at her. “It messes with my mind on the regular. Even I, who you’ve so kindly marked as an expert of fear, get tossed and flummoxed and punted in the face by it so many damn times, it’s a wonder I’m still kicking. Going on what your magical mentor said--we’re going to fail, and fail a lot, before we get it right. Same with fear. Same with anything, really. It’s a struggle, kid, not gonna lie. If life were as easy as figuring out the solution, we’d have the fertile land, but nothing would ever grow--if you catch what I mean.”
Feeling the effects of the opium dwindle in intensity, owing, of course, to his quick rates of healing and metabolism, he rolled into a sitting position and gazed, with red-rimmed eyes, at his near untouched plate of food. Though he wasn’t hungry, hadn’t been since he awoke with a bludgeoning headache that morning, he ate the entire plate clean, for Teselin’s sake. He smacked his lips and licked them with all the enthusiasm of a wolf licking its chops, even stretching the tip of his tongue to the tip of his nose. “It’s all down the gullet,” he burped, for effect. “Thanks a bunch, scamp. Probably would’ve gotten desperate late in the evening and have to resort to catching rabbits for sustenance, and those clodhopping gits are speedier than a fart on a downwind.” He presented the empty plate to Teselin and leaned back on his hands. The pipe beside him had long since stopped smoking.
“I’ll tell you this, Tes. You’ve got some real courage. You’re doing it, going for it, despite your fears. And I’ve got mad respect for anyone who walks into an unknowable situation, afraid, but ready to fight. So put it there.” He took her hand, and smacked it heartily, side to side. “No matter what happens, I’ve got your back. You’ll survive this, yet.” What about Rowen? A voice of “reason” inquired, within himself. Do you forget why you got involved here? It was for her, and not this fresh-faced pup. If it came down to her or Teselin, who would you save?
Depends on the circumstances. Plus, I don’t save people, his answer shot back, and the exchange promptly faded. “Aw, scamp, don’t you worry about me.” He grinned his wolfish grin, and shoulder bumped her. “I gotta run a few more errands for her Majesty, Chara Rigas--once my head clears. But if you wanna stay till then, that’s your loss, and I won’t stop you,” he chuckled. From inside his pocket, he pulled out a deck of cards. Cutting the deck, he placed the two halves on the ground and rubbed their collective corners together in a audibly satisfying riffle shuffle. Then, he arced the cards in the air, transferring them from hand to hand with practiced flair. “Well, now that I’ve got your captive attention, care to learn a few card tricks? Or learn a game, perhaps? No worries; we’re not playing for money. Though,” he paused, “no fun playing a game with no stakes. Let’s see,” he clicked his tongue in loud thought, “loser has to do whatever the winner wants. Nothing too scandalous, of course.” He winked. “I’m not gonna tell you to shave your head or anything. We’ll keep it clean.” He pooled all the shuffled cards into one hand. “How about some five card stud?”
After his lesson with Teselin, Alster queued for food, stacked his plate, and grabbed another one, in case Elespeth hadn’t any time to sup. Sensing her absence from the vicinity, when he had spotted Teselin under a tree with Hadwin, and Sigrid among the Kariji woman’s company, he assumed she’d eaten earlier with Haraldur, who was absent, or hadn’t eaten at all. Going with the former option, he balanced the two plates, finished his meal, and took the extra one to Chara’s villa, slipping through the front door and searching for Elespeth. Minutes later, she emerged from the bath, damp of hair, with a silk robe clinging to the sinuous curves of her muscular, warrior-fed body. He cleared his throat, unsuccessfully hiding the fact that he’d been staring for too long at everywhere but her eyes. “I had something to eat; that’s all.” He held a plate out to her. “I take it you were bathing, and I wanted to make sure you were fed, so even if you ate before, consider another helping.” He set it on the dining table in the opposite room. “Your role in this plan is far more physically demanding, so you’re going to need every advantage. So,” his smile spread in a wry arc, “you’re not going hungry on my watch.”
Joining Elespeth in the next room, he observed the two resting blades with an inclined head. Flattening the palm of his steel prosthesis, he clanked it against the pommel of the bastard sword, listening to the clangorous ring of steel on steel; then, did the same experimental tap on the short sword. “I was the one to offer my services, today. I’ll have little trouble enchanting two blades of this caliber. They sound like receptive vessels for my magic to flow.” He lifted the bastard sword and held it steady with his left hand. “Some weapons are better built to store magic than others. Usually, but not always the case, the weapon most expertly crafted will serve well for enchantment. The work of an artisan carries creative energy; sweat, effort, and toil are immortalized in the forging process. A bond, therefore, is made. It’s why your sword is easiest to enchant. It has a lineage hearkening back to Atvany and its painstaking, but beautiful, bladecraft. Second, it’s linked to you, and you to me. Because of this three-way link, it’s quite hungry for my magic, and I think it’s spoiled for my magic alone, sorry to say. You know,” his eyes smirked, “in case you went out to some other caster for a service you’d get here for free. Lucky for you, though, your sword and its superiority will ease the learning curve for casting. It wants to use magic, but it’s also an obedient weapon, and won’t act independent of its user.”
With his steel hand, he scooped Haraldur’s short sword from the floor. “These blades come from Eyraille’s armory. While I’m unfamiliar with their nation’s weapon-smithing history, and my knowledge on quality is lacking, I can tell that these are very fine weapons. Only the best for a prince, right?” he said, with the hint of a laugh. “Makes me wonder if they were Haraldur’s wedding presents.”
It didn’t take long for Elespeth to ask the inevitable question regarding Teselin’s training, and Alster tensed a little in the shoulders. He set Haraldur’s weapons down, and turned to Elespeth. What followed was a detailed description of the day’s events with the young summoner, an honest recapitulation of what occurred, and the advice he imparted to her. “Nothing went awry on my end,” he said, in conclusion, keeping his eyes lowered, in case Elespeth probed him for more information. “I made sure of it.” Counter to what happened the other day, his fiance praised him for saying the right words, scooping him into her arms and pressing him close. Her damp skin interacted with his dry clothes, and the frame of her wet hair dripped on his cheeks, but he didn’t care. He returned her embrace, and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I’m exactly what she needs...only if I remain constant, and true to the person who can help her most. So I will. For Teselin, I won’t err again.” He withdrew from Elespeth, but not before sliding a kiss to her lips. “Now...let’s have a look at your sword.”
At her comment concerning “pieces” of him, he smiled, but it was more forced than genuine. “That’s what I do, El. Offer myself to everyone who has need of me. I come apart, too.” He rubbed at the ports connecting his prosthesis to the rest of his arm: angry red and inflamed beneath the covering of his tunic. His eyes were curious, and faraway, but a blink returned them to normalcy. “It’s wartime. We all must do our part. I’m glad I can be so useful, to so many people.” He turned away from Elespeth and headed to the terrace outside. “Grab your sword and get dressed. We can’t practice magic inside, even if it’s only energy work and shield spells. Chara will be quite cross with us if we accidentally burn her villa down.”
Meanwhile, Lady Chara Rigas was en route to Main House, having afforded herself a long enough break to acquire some food for herself on the queue. Although she easily could have ordered a servant to fetch her a plate, or a cook to make her a custom meal, she needed the satisfaction of moving about without assistance, partaking in even the most trivial matters alone. It was primarily for her sanity; any longer within the constant purview of the council and she’d develop the strength to break a table over their heads. While they were largely compliant, when they expressed opinions of their own, she wished they’d never speak another word for the rest of their lives, so inane were their comments and ideas. She couldn’t wait for the evacuation to commence, couldn’t wait for this holding pattern to end--because waiting was far more tortuous than acting.
And, she thought, the sooner we march, the sooner I shall reunite with Lilica. It was the one hope within a hopeless situation. A solitary gleam of a star poking through an impenetrable sheet of clouds. Nonetheless, the promise of reunion kept her going.
Once she collected her plate, she wandered towards a quiet copse of trees on the far end of the lawn, to revel in her manufactured moment of calm--until a hulking man crossed her path, and interrupted her route towards a peaceful, uninterrupted meal.
“Lady Chara,” Haraldur said, testing the title on his tongue. “I don’t mean to disrupt--”
“Well, you are,” she said, in a tired sigh. “But it is to be expected. Is this an important matter?”
“No. In fact, I saw you just now and the thought came to me, so I--”
“Out with it,” she snapped. The man was holding a flagon of what she assumed was whiskey; by the slight waver of his step and the muddiness of his words, she suspected the flagon was almost depleted. “Is this a request?”
“...Yes,” he admitted, with the bob of his head. “The resonance stone--”
“To Eyraille? Done.” She pulled the cracked green stone from her inside pocket and pressed it into his hand. “Be sure to return it in the morning. Now if that is all you need, allow me to have this moment to myself before any number of advisors come bombarding me with questions or other requests. Do not tell anyone my location unless it is of utmost urgency.” She slipped away before she allowed the man another word.
Alone, with a flagon in one hand and the stone in the other, Haraldur found an undisturbed area overlooking the ocean, and sat along a collection of rocks. He turned the calcite-smooth sections of stone in his gnarled hand, and brought it to his mouth. The swirl of his even breaths activated the stone into a pulsating glowing green. Uncertain at first, he said, “Vega?” With another breath, he tried again, louder and more aware. “If you’re there, Vega, it’s Haraldur. I don’t know how badly this...stone...distorts sound, but it’s me.” He set down his flagon and spun the ring on his finger. “I...don’t know what to say. I’ve never used one of these implements before. For all I know, I’m talking to a glowing rock and nothing more,” he laughed, in a waver of nervous energy. “But...I just wanted to hear your voice. Tell me how you’re doing, Vega. I’m drunk, and I’ve been drunk more than I’ve been sober since I got here. Any news is preferable to what I’m doing.” He looked beyond, to the Mollengardian camps on the shoreline. “What I’m about to do.”
“Well… it is nice to hear that I am not alone, in struggling with fear that is holding me back.” Just as Alster had reassured her that her current failures were not harbingers of doom when the moment of truth came, Hadwin, similarly, did not seem concerned that she continued to be stifled by her own preoccupations with everything that could go wrong. Though a good deal of people would disagree, the shapeshifter did have his own pearls of wisdom to divulge, unbiased and pure. Though she knew he would never believe her, the young summoner was certain he was not the scoundrel that he made himself out to be. Scoundrels did not give others the time of day, to listen to their concerns and allay them with sound advice. But if this defense mechanism of an opium-loving, devil-may-care attitude was what helped him along day to day, then she would not be the one to disparage or challenge it.
Teselin had a feeling he’d eat if she asked him to, and was happy to find no resistance from the wolfman when she reminded him that his body did, in fact, have needs he couldn’t ignore, no matter how foggy his head might be. “One good deed deserves another,” she said, in response to his gratitude. “You looked out for me the other night when I was too tired to realize I was hungry. It goes both ways, you know. You may have more worldly experience than I do, but… everyone needs someone to look out for them. Even you.”
Though she smiled at his enthusiasm toward her determination, it did not reach the young summoner’s eyes. “You flatter me too much, Hadwin. I don’t think I deserve it. Courage is when you face your fears or the unknown because you have made a decision to do so. I… simply, I don’t have much of a choice. Even if I were not summoning this wave, another catalyst of sorts would surely force my hand to harness my power once and for all. Honestly, this was all just a matter of time. But…” She turned her head, and returned his grin. “Having people believe in me is certainly making a difference. I don’t have anything else planned for this evening, so… show me a card game. I’m willing to try my luck.”
Truth be told, Teselin had never gambled before (which likely didn’t come as a surprise to anyone), nor was she well versed in card games. She hadn’t had the luxury of growing up in the company of siblings to play with, and she was lucky if her mother had been at all present. Nonetheless, she was familiar with the nature of luck, and greater numbers overpowering the smaller ones. Hadwin was a good teacher, too, likely because he was so enthused about trying his luck, the adrenaline rush of wondering if he’d score good, or cash out. But there was no money riding on this game; Teselin hadn’t any, and the wolf man wouldn’t have been interested in taking it even if she had.
Despite her unfamiliarity with the game, the young summoner was surprised to find that either luck was on her side, or Hadwin was purposely dealing her winning hands. She decided to see the game through, however, curious as to whether the shapeshifter had it in him to take the hit to his pride and let her win; given the queens, kings, and aces in her hand, she had a sneaking feeling that luck might not be a factor at all. Perhaps he didn’t think, in her victory, she would ask him to do anything particularly uncomfortable or unsettling; she was too kind, too sensitive to others needs and their moods. Maybe he was right.
Or, maybe he was underestimating her. “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever played a game of this in my life,” she confessed, raising her eyebrows at her winning hand. “Never would have thought I’d beat a well-seasoned expert at it the first time. Either I’m just that good, or luck truly favors me.” Sitting back on her heels, the young summoner grinned at her game partner. “So I won. That means I get to ask you to do anything I want, right? Well… within reason and decency. I also won’t ask you to shave your head. But… there is something that I would like you to do.”
Teselin climbed to her feet and stretched her arms, feeling the weight of fatigue begin to creep into her bones. “I want you to go and talk to Elespeth. Really talk to her--without throwing insults. I know the two of you don’t get on, at all, but the two of you are part of the same sector of this plan. And disharmony isn’t going to mean victory for us. So… that is my winning request. It doesn’t have to be tonight, but we are running out of time. Talk to her, find grounds of understanding. I think the two of you are more alike than you want to admit. After all… you have both been looking out for me, from the very beginning. Just in very different ways.”
The plate of food awaiting Elespeth as she emerged from the bath took her by surprise, but did not go unappreciated. In a way, it felt something like a peace offering; he hadn’t joined her to eat the other evening, and perhaps her absence from supper had concerned him, made him wonder if the wrinkles that had developed in their relationship just the other night had truly been smoothed out. Not even the warrior knew the answer to that; perhaps she never would. But what she did know was that this was that this was a gesture from the Alster she knew and loved. One who thought independently of the Serpent’s influence, and it brought a genuine smile to her face. “That was sweet of you,” she commented, and picked up the plate to begin her quick consumption of the now somewhat cold food. “I will try to make more of a habit of replenishing the energy I burn during training. It is only fair I practice what I preach, after ordering Teselin to consume three hefty meals a day.”
She watched as Alster picked up the swords in question, going into detail about how and why they were receptive to his magic, comparing them to her own blade, which, at this point, would be the most enchanted of all of them. Certainly, it would take time and effort to enchant Haraldur’s weapons, along with whatever Sigrid brought along with her (barring Gaolithe, of course) but her fiance had already made the offer. That, and she had to stop forgetting that he was not the fragile thing he had been just prior to leaving Stella D’Mare the first time. Magic did not deplete his resources the way that it used to, and he was no longer in danger of burning out due to its extensive usage. If he could spend most of the evening enchanting her blade, and still have the energy to rise early, aid with their training, and then move on to tutor Teselin for the remainder of the day, then this was nothing, in comparison.
“Rest assured, I have no intention of approaching any other caster to enchant my weapons,” she smiled. “Anyway, they couldn’t do half of the things that you can. You are the most powerful magic user in Stella D’Mare; maybe even in this part of the world, who knows? I know better than to seek sub-par help.” Briefly, she couldn’t help but wonder where he stood in comparison to Teselin. Untrained and lacking confidence, certainly, he was superior to the young summoner. But when she finally learned to master her boundless power… would even Alster be able to stand up to her, should events take a turn for the worst, and she unleash all hell on the city, and then some? That is ridiculous, the Atvanian warrior chided herself. Teselin is too afraid of harming her allies. I doubt that her magic is even capable of turning on us, intentionally or otherwise.
Finishing what she could of the large meal that Alster had brought for her, Elespeth nodded and dropped her robe where she stood, before sauntering, naked, into the bedroom to retrieve a fresh outfit--entirely intentionally, knowing his eyes would be on her. A small, playful tease, one that had her smirking at him over her shoulder. Anything to make light of the moment… for there were not many moments left for the two of them, together, before they were forced to part ways once again.
Vega hadn’t put the resonance stone down since Haraldur had left. The smell of him was still everything; it clung to her bedsheets, her clothes, had even settled upon the stagnant air of the palace. It was like he was still with her, but… that was what made it all the more difficult. He wasn’t there; there was no one to keep her warm at night, no grounding presence to wake up to in the mornings. Her only connection was that resonance stone, which had remained quiet and cold since he had handed it to her… and the growing life inside of her that they had made, together. Life that had scarcely begun to show.
If only in hopes of hearing his voice again, the Eyraillian princess hadn’t parted from the strange piece of magic that meant to keep lines of correspondence open between her and her husband. It was with her during the day as she coached her Skyknights, dodging questions as to why she hadn’t been training with them directly, of late. It was only a matter of time before her secret would not longer be a secret--but when the rest of the world found out… she wanted Haraldur to be here. And he would be, long before Eyraille would so much as suspect. He had to be.
After climbing out of her bath that evening, the Eyraillian princess was quick to stoke the fire in her chambers and crawl under the quilts of her bed. Without a large, warm body to curl up next to, nights had seemed a little colder, even as spring slowly but surely approached with its promise of warmth. Already, the Equinox seemed as though it had been so long ago… but it hadn’t been a week. She hadn’t been married a week, and already, her husband was elsewhere, beyond her reach, while she was under orders by two respected healers not to follow… and for good reason. It went without saying that the Skyknight commander had never felt so restless, so helpless, and so frustrated.
The resonance stone was a poor substitute to the owner of the voice she had yet to hear through its magical properties, but just in case… just in the event that he found time to correspond, she kept it near, next to her pillow. No sound, no voice, ever came through the enchanted object: except tonight, when at last, it did.
Vega had just begun to nod off when his voice came through the stone like a dream. At first, she thought it was a dream, too good to be true; just a sleep-induced hallucination. But when she open her eyes, the stone spoke again, and she snatched it up from its spot next to her pillow. “Haraldur?” She breathed, and let out a laugh that bordered on a sob. “Gods, what took you so long? Could you not spare a moment to have words with your pregnant wife who misses you terribly?”
She smiled and rolled onto her back, pressing the faintly glowing stone to her breastbone. “Tell me what has come to pass. Has Stella D’Mare planned their evacuation yet? What do you need from the Skyknights? I’ve been preparing them to the best of my ability… but I cannot give them any details until I know exactly what is needed of us.”
The Skyknight princess lent an ear to the details he provided, from what he knew of the evacuation and what to expect. Nothing beyond Eyraille’s capabilities, or that of the Skyknights. With Mollengard sufficiently distracted by a supposed tidal wave, and the Forbanne under Haraldur’s control, the Skyknights would have free reign to transport the infirm and the elderly to Galeyn. It would of course incite the conquering nation’s ire, but if they already had plans to threaten her kingdom, then there was little they could do to worsen relations between the two nations.
Of course, even with greater matters at hand, the newly crowned Eyraillian prince asked after her health. Ever conscientious of the miracle lives developing in her womb. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me. In fact, it’s good you’re not here; it spares me the indignity of having you witness my constant bouts of nausea.” Vega blew air from between her lips. “Relax, morning sickness just struck me a little later than most pregnant women. But Daphni and Elias have assured me it is a positive indicator of a healthy pregnancy. A good sign that things are progressing as they should be.”
Vega paused, resting a hand on her abdomen. Only about a quarter of the way into this drastic change within her body, she still had yet to show visibly. “How long will you remain, after the refugees have been led to safety?” There was no skirting around the question. Vega Sorde was not a woman who enjoyed dealing with the intangible or unpredictable; she wanted concrete facts, and promises they would adere. “They might need you, there… but I want you, here. Don’t make me endure this pregnancy alone…”
Everyone needs someone to look out for them. Even you.
Although he hid the true impact of her words, Hadwin gave the young summoner an affectionate pat atop her head. Far be it for him to ruin the moment by flashing his teeth and twisting her heartfelt compliment into an off-handed joke as a method for swallowing, without choking on, possibly one of the kindest things anyone ever said to him. But that was the nature of Teselin, who could find the mercy within the heart of a monster (not that he was a monster, just scum, but the analogy rang similar). The world was liable to eat her, for the offense of maintaining her innocence and purity--and he feared for the inevitability. Not because he believed in stagnation and lack of personal growth (she needed to change, after all), but because rare was the individual who made it to the other side wholly in tact. It was happening with Elespeth’s precious fiance, soft hands (or, hand, in his case), callusing into grip-hooks. Soon, the left hand would mirror the right: all steel and cold, solid platelets. Once Teselin experienced her breakdown of ideologies, (which would happen), how would she recover? In which direction would she fall?
And would anyone be looking out for her, in that moment--long enough to catch her?
“Hah,” he snorted. “We’re slaves to our circumstances, Teselin. We may have choices, but they amount to the same end goal: ‘what’s the best option for my continued survival?’ And you said it, yourself; do you deal with this matter now, or later? Well, if matters involving your magic are bound to happen anyway, then it was never a decision; just a delay. The fact that you’ve chosen to quit delaying is in itself a courageous move, and fuck it if you’re not going to accept my acknowledgement of your bravery because it’ll do you no favors walking into this tidal wave scenario thinking, ‘I don’t deserve to feel courageous because I had no choice.’” He threw his hands up in the air. “Many people are thrust into do or die situations every day. Would you think these survivors any less courageous because they had no choice? I’d like to say you wouldn’t,” he chuckled. “So don’t say the same of yourself, either. You’re courageous. Simple. As. That,” he concluded with a staccatoed, sing-song lilt.
“Now that we’ve established your grit, let’s test your luck.” He began to deal the cards, a rapid-fire blur of movements that made tracking the transfer of cards a difficult, nigh impossible endeavor. “I’ll teach you to play as we go. We’ll do a few practice rounds, and then we’re in for the real deal. I do warn you,” he blew a steady breath across his knuckles in a casual show of bravado, “I’m one hell of a card-sharp. A living Knave of Hearts. Love and money--She favors me in equal measure. Gamblers are rarely that lucky.”
Of course, it was a rigged game from the start. He didn’t start feeding her winning hands until a round or two into the game proper, after he’d grown confident in her ability to remember the hierarchy of desirable combinations and outcomes. Much as he was a gambler, he was also a cheater; the best of them were, especially those who ran a side-gig as a hustler and a swindler, preying on the naive for quick and easy coin. He was preying on the naive, all right, but on the reverse, throwing his hand and feeding his opponent a few quality face cards. It was the second time in two months that he fumbled for the sake of another--the first being Elespeth, during their fateful night on the town. The former was more a business transaction, a flamboyant show of his cooperation to Stella D’Mare and their cause. The latter--a bolstering transaction. Teselin needed to feel a winner’s hand. To be a winner, among the vicissitudes of chaos. To know control within the uncontrollable (insofar as she was aware of his orchestrations). So he threw her some pairs. A few same-suits. Bluffed his way into a losing hand, and folded, even when he stumbled into a Queen-high straight. True, she probably suspected his cheating ways, but she didn’t call him out on it, and he feigned ignorance until the very end, when she collected the most number of wins, and thus, her prize.
“Beginner’s luck,” he said, with a flippant shrug and the toss of his head. “It’s how Fortune chooses her initiates. Gives you a little bite so you’ll want more. Then when She’s got you all reeled and caught in Her net, you’re flopping to Her every capricious whim, and escaping to the sea is a near-guaranteed impossibility. But congrats, all the same. Now,” he spread his hands in a magnanimous gesture, “what can I do for you, my benevolent captor?”
He should have suspected her answer. This was Teselin, after all. She wanted harmonious coexistence among allies--among everyone, were it possible. And she knew his grievances with Elespeth. He so much as opened his mouth and said as much, without any prompting.
“You’re asking for a damn miracle, scamp,” he said, gathering up their cards and cutting them into a loud, chopping shuffle. “But I’ll honor my deal, and my loss. I’ll talk to her,” he almost shuddered at the word ‘talk.’ “With the least amount of...flavor. It’ll be utilitarian and insufferable.” He folded into a grin. “Like her.”
As Elespeth sat down to dine, scooping up generous portions of food and taking them to her mouth--chew, swallow, repeat--Alster stood back, approving with a low sigh and a relieved nod. “I could never get you to eat,” he said, a line of worry resting between his brow. “Even if you’re only doing it to provide an example for Teselin, I can’t complain, if it gives you an appetite. And I know I’m partially to blame,” his eyes lowered to the tiled floor. “Hard to eat if you’re always concerned about me. This part of our relationship never changes. So,” he encouraged a small, teasing smile to appear, “there’s a consistency, between us. A constant. I’m always going to worry you out of eating.”
When she finished her plate, and he moved on to examining the swords in the next room, he about shook off her proclamation of his magical proficiency, until he remembered: embrace who you want to become, Alster. The old you would succumb to doubt. The new you welcomes and acknowledges your strength. “I...could be,” he said, falteringly at first. “The power isn’t all mine, but I have access to it. To under-utilize my gifts, borrowed or otherwise, would be wasteful. Always know,” he rested a hand on her arm, “that you can come to me on all things magic. And...well, anything else.” His eyes grew luminous with mischief. “I think I’d get jealous if you sought any other magic-user’s aid, besides. Unless it’s something I can’t personally do, or have no business learning, or teaching,” his hand trailed up her arm, a tickling, teasing massage, peppered with sparks, “I’m yours to use. An inexhaustible resource. Just try to suck me dry--and I’ll burn even brighter.” An intensity broke from the placidity of his blue-green eyes. But it was a familiar intensity, one borne of love and determination--and incandescent lust. It warmed his skin and burnished his cheeks. And when Elespeth shed her clothes and loped away, sliding from his reach, he followed, a red dwarf pulsing after his companion star.
“Our lesson...could wait, don’t you think?” He leaned against the doorway to their shared room, peering inside as she gathered an outfit to wear. “Maybe it’s better to practice a little endurance, first.” His eyes flicked to the bed, then back to her. “That is my professional suggestion--as your teacher.”
Right when Haraldur was about to pocket the stone and berate himself for drunkenly conversing with an inanimate object (albeit a glowing, magical one), he heard a response crackle from the cracked surface. Vega. It really was her. No tricks from his tired, drink-addled mind, no fantasies dreamt into waking delusions--her voice was true. He couldn’t think up a better facsimile of her mildly chiding words, her tone as brassy as petrified fire, a rich, resonant echo in his ears. He wasn’t that imaginative.
“Vega,” he said, the stone practically touching his lips, now, in his eagerness. “Thought I was going crazy, but there’s no mistake.” The hooks of a laugh caught on his words. “My imaginings of this conversation made you into a far gentler version of what I’m hearing right now, so I know this is real.” He stroked the contours of the stone, as though stroking the apple of her cheek. “Chara had ownership of the stone, and she’s been too busy for me to get a hold of. I just now acquired it from her, and I have to give it back, once I’m done. The mass evacuation will take place in four days’ time, so prepare your Skyknights accordingly. Chara or Alster will have the demographics of elderly and infirm for you to calculate, so it can’t be me holding this stone for longer than tonight. You’re going to be working with Alster throughout the evacuation; he’s assuming the role of Rigas Head by proxy, so maybe he’ll have some tactical solutions for the entrance of your rocs. Shields or concealment spells or--whatever he can do. Which is ever-expanding, apparently.”
He leaned forward and twisted his body towards the direction of Eyraille. Perhaps if he stared long and hard, he could unlock a magic within himself; an ability to remotely view hundreds of leagues away, into the palace, beside Vega in her bedchambers. “Stella D’Mare had a celebration. Not two days after the Equinox festival, and I’m in the midst of another revel,” he said, sighing in the non-verbal equivalent of a disbelieving shake of his head. “It was a remembrance and farewell festival, of sorts. Also, Elespeth was made into a Rigas. Not to be mistaken for marriage. She’s an Honorary Rigas, now, and her lifespan’s been expanded. Sigrid danced at this festival, too. Voluntarily. With another woman of interest. And now the three of us are working on a formation that will most catch Captain Solveig off-guard, when we encounter her--using enchanted weapons and Dawn Guard tactics. But,” he trailed off, much more interested in Vega’s account of the past few days since they were last together; how she was faring along in her pregnancy, and if any complications were afoot. He released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, at her assurance that her bouts with illness were commonplace, and even healthy. They were the ailments of a living person. Vega was alive, and so were the children inside of her. All would progress as nature intended. Birth. Children. Future.
This part is essential, he told himself. I need to secure our future. Protect us from Mollengard. Sever all my ties to them, until they can do no damage to me anymore.
“I don’t know how long this’ll take, Vega,” he admitted, tracing the scars on his killing hand. “A few weeks to get there, a few weeks to help settle the refugees, a few weeks marching to Eyraille. I wish I could give you a solid estimate, but everything is dependent on securing enough Forbanne soldiers under my command.” A doubtful prospect, he wanted to add, but omitted all traces of pessimism--at least when speaking to Vega. “But I promise you--I will be there as soon as I can. I want to be there, with you. I will be, for their birth. I don’t want to miss anything.” He clutched the band of his ring like a lifeline. “Because it’ll happen only once, and then, it’s gone. I have duties to uphold, in Eyraille, that I made to the king, and if I don’t keep my vows, he’ll have every right to eviscerate me. At this point,” he huffed a laugh, “I think I’m more afraid of him than of Mollengard. None of this is permanent,” he continued, a soft but steady susurrus. “But what I’ve given to you, to Eyraille, to our children...is undying.”
Early that morning, Hadwin fell into the breakfast queue, grabbed a few plates full (after calmly convincing the suspicious cooks that he was delivering the food to respected Rigases, under which he loyally ‘served’), and went forth to do just that. It was therefore opportune timing that, en route to Chara’s villa, he should encounter Alster and Elespeth heading for the food pavilion.
“Don’t bother,” he said, with a chipper grin, and handed each a plate. “I know that look. No, I didn’t spit in them. And yes,” he pointed to Alster’s plate, which was filled with rice, beans, bread, and a coating of precious garden vegetables and fruits, “I know you don’t eat meat. So I found you something extra that’s off-menu.” He rolled his shoulders into a casual shrug. “Dropping your name helps. Or Chara’s.”
Alster transferred his perplexed stare from the plate to the wolf-shifter. “Far as I know, a simple blood oath doesn’t rewrite someone’s personality. So--” he tilted his head, “is there something you want?”
He transferred the point of his finger to Elespeth. “To talk to her. Alone.”
Alster’s eyebrow lowered, suspicious. “Why?”
“Honestly?” He chuckled. “Well, I lost a bet, so I’m here to make some amends. It won’t take long. And then you can be on your merry way, together, when I’m done. You can even keep an eye on us from afar, if you’re so concerned I’m going to do anything untoward.
Alster frowned, but glanced askance at Elespeth, as if to say, “it’s up to you.”
He wasn’t wrong; and he wasn’t wrong to be concerned. How many times, in the almost-year they had known one another, had the Atvanian warrior foregone food simply for the fact that she’d forgotten to partake in a meal? Or because her stomach was too twisted with anguish or worry to stomach the sustenance it had so desperately needed? How many times had she forced Alster to watch her disappear into a frail, emaciated form of herself, completely unresponsive to his genuine urges to have her take care of her own health?
It hadn’t been his intention, of that she was certain, but a shadow of guilt had settled in the angles of her face, darkening the slate green of her irises. “I’m sorry,” she said to him; a broad and all-encompassing apology intended to cover more ground than it reasonably should. “I didn’t realize… but you are right. I suppose it’s a behaviour I’ve had for a long time; please do not think yourself solely responsible.” She put her plate down for a moment, if only to push home the meaning and sentiment behind her words. To make him believe that he was not to blame… not alone, at least. “It is a fault, of mine. A terrible vice, that I shut myself away from the appeal of food, when I am too angry, or too sad, or… too anything. It takes a needless toll on my healthy, as well as a needless toll on your sanity, I can only imagine. But it is my responsibility to do better, and I will. I do not take the extra years that Rigel Rigas blessed me with, for granted; I promise you, here and now, that I will spend them well, and wisely.” A grin tickled the corner of her mouth, managing to reach her eyes. “And I implore you to call me on my unacceptable behaviour, when I show it--just as I won’t hesitate to call you on yours. We can hold each other accountable; in that way, we’ll bring the best out of one another.”
Elespeth covered his hand with her own, a mirthful laugh shaking her shoulders. “And just who else would I approach with a question regarding magic? Chara?” She snorted and shook her head. “Much as I am sure your cousin would take great pleasure in schooling me on my ignorance, I think I prefer a more trusted resource. Or… one who I know won’t try my patience. At least, not intentionally. So fear not.” Stealing a teasing kiss from his lips, she added, with a smirk, “You will grow tired of my nagging curiosities. Beg me to go and bother someone else. But I won’t; because I am going to hold you to your promises, Alster Rigas. Just as I expect you to hold me to mine.”
She could feel the change in Alster’s disposition before her silken robe even hit the floor; before she disappeared into their shared bedroom, to, as he’d suggested, find something suitable to wear, as they were to take their training outside. It was like a subtle, sharp jolt between their bond, similar to what she had felt the night they’d strengthened it with their blood reunited. A stirring, impatient sort of insatiation emanated from her fiance, as he followed her into the bedroom, taking in every taut curve and angle of her naked form. Elespeth had expected that it would get a rise out of him; what she hadn’t expected what just how fierce it would be.
“Are you suggesting that I lack endurance?” The former knight raised her eyebrows, holding out a tunic in front of her, feigning contemplation as to whether or not it was acceptably warm for an evening outside. “Me, of all people? Even after a spent a day training with a Dawn warrior and a former Forbanne soldier?” Extending an arm, Elespeth flexed, just for show. Muscles tensed under her flesh, revealing the sinewy form of her arms, her abdomen, her legs, and her buttocks. Her lips formed a smirk. “I don’t know, Alster. I’m not convinced I need further instruction when it comes to endurance. I think I’ve got it rather down pat… what makes you think I need further instruction? Unless…”
She sauntered over to the Rigas caster, closing the distance between them, just barely within touching distance. “Unless you’ve been holding out on me--have you, Alster? Or am I just cocky to think I’ve learned everything that you can teach me?”
Perhaps it was the nature of their renewed bond that stirred such intense feelings of desire in their blood; or perhaps time and distance had emboldened the both of them to take more risks, and try new things. Whatever the reason, Elespeth was not complaining. No amount of sexual intimacy would smooth out the wrinkles in their relationship--some which she knew still existed, despite their heartfelt apologies to one another--but if they were to be force to part ways yet again, in just a few days’ time, she would not pass up the chance to feel the warmth and weight of his body.
“I suppose I can be open-minded,” she purred, closing the distance between them by just an inch; enough that their lips almost touched. “If there is anything new you can teach me… I might find it in me to be an obedient student.”
“So Elespeth is a Rigas, now.” A smile crept into Vega’s countenance, and she rolled onto her side to gaze out her window into the night, all the while keeping the resonance stone close to her breast. “You have most certainly had your fill of celebrations, it seems. And… did you say that Sigrid Sorenson--your cousin, Sigrid Sorenson--willingly danced with another woman? After everything it took to get her to so much as dance with me, whom she flirted with shamelessly for an entire week?” The Eyraillian princess snorted, but she couldn’t help but smile. “Well, whomever this woman was who won the Dawn warrior’s favor enough to have her ask for a dance, she must be quite something. For all she was a pain in my behind during her stay in Eyraille… I am happy for her. No one should be confined to the shell of their own insecurities for such a time.”
In truth, Vega didn’t imagine her husband could offer a solid answer to her question, but nonetheless, she had hoped. And she had hoped wrongly. A few weeks, at most--not months. Not months apart, while the children inside her grew, and her stomach along with them. She would be showing in her pregnancy long before the former mercenary, Eyraille’s new prince, returned to her. Would have to face her Skyknights, her people, her kingdom without him at her side, when she was no longer able to keep her secret. Eyraille was not a band of fools, either; they would realize the timing of her marriage to Haraldur, and the trimester of her pregnancy did not add up to the child being conceived within wedlock. And that was a shame that she would have to bear all on her own.
“You’re talking months.” She breathed, a catch creeping into her voice that she could not disguise. “Months. I understand the part you must play; in aiding the evacuation. But I did not realize… I didn’t think that it would extend so far beyond that.” You’re being selfish, a voice whispered at the back of her mind. After all the people of Stella D’Mare have done for you; after everything that Alster Rigas has done for you. It isn’t enough to be at peace with the fact that time with your husband must be sacrificed in their favor… “I’m sorry.” Though he couldn’t see, she shook her head, letting tears slide from her eyes and spill onto her pillow. “I do understand. This situation is delicate and tenuous, and it will take time, I just… I wish I was there with you. Anywhere but in the public eye of my people while I’m like… this.” Pregnant, she meant, but the meaning was obvious and needn’t be clarified.
Vega drew a steadying breath and closed her eyes, struggling to accept the inevitable, but necessary. “I never wanted to be in this position. A pregnant wife awaiting her husband’s return from a war… it sickens me, staying idle as I have been. I understand why you do what you must do… but you must understand that none of this is easy for me. Particularly to bear alone.”
Pressing her lips together, the princess quietly swallowed a sob, and said only, “You should get some rest; so should I. Contact me again when you have more information.” And for the first time since he’d left, Vega put the resonance stone down, and turned away from it. She wasn’t being fair, she knew; but emotions weren’t fair. Carrying unborn children with their father out of her reach was not fair. None of this would be fair, would be right, until he returned to her… and hearing that that time was still so far off was not easy to hear.
It went without saying that their training never did occur, that evening, and the mysteries of Elespeth’s newly enchanted sword went unprovoked. But she knew that the moment Alster had fallen into bed with her, shed his clothes, and showed her that not only was he powerful and versatile in his near unlimited source of magic, but also incredibly creative betwixt the sheets. He’d given her a lesson on endurance, alright, but by the time they were through with one another, any endurance she’d proven was used up in its entirety. Of course, this was likely what Alster had wanted and anticipated, if only to tease her about it later on and call her on her previous bravado--at which point, she would simply decry that his use of magic was ‘cheating’, anyway--but she did not care, and was happy to fall asleep, exhausted, next to him. And that night, she’d slept very well.
So well, in fact, that in spite of her vow to take better care of her health, she resisted Alster’s attempts to awaken her the next morning to prepare herself to find some breakfast before returning to her training with Sigrid soon after. “I will… just after a little more sleep.” She argued, hugging her pillow to her chest. “I’ll have whatever is left over, after the majority of others have had their share… I’m not that hungry.” True to his word to hold her to her promises, though, Alster did not accept that answer, and wouldn’t budge until she agreed and sat up--but only after he’d pulled the covers away from her, exposing her to the chill of the morning air. “I had intended to be in bed at a civilized hour… sleeping,” she argued sullenly, and stood to gather an outfit for the day, but not without wearing a pout. “Next time you decide to put an entirely different spin on our training, Alster, you do not get to haul me out of bed before I am ready… don’t think I won’t give you hell to pay.”
In spite of her playful threats, she was happy to have the opportunity to dine with him; any moment spent together was precious, and not an opportunity she’d ever truly pass up, regardless of the circumstances. That said, as fate would have it, perhaps she could have caught a few more minutes of precious shut-eye. No sooner did the two leave Chara’s villa that they encountered a sight Elespeth never in a million years thought she’d witness: none other than Hadwin, carrying two plates of food. Breakfast for the both of them.
Immediately, suspicion dawned on the Atvanian warrior, who was just as hesitant to accept the plate as her fiance. “...what is this about?” She asked, to which the shapeshifter had answered he’d lost a bet: and that he wanted to speak with her, alone. That first half, she had no difficulty believing, but the stipulations made her nervous. “What must you say to be that you cannot say in the presence of my fiance?” She asked. To make amends, he’d told her, which… made little to no sense. But then, she didn’t know the whole story.
“It’s fine, Alster. I won’t be long. And we won’t leave your sight.” With a nod, Elespeth followed the wolf man several paces away from the villa, not out of Alster’s frame of vision, but out of earshot, as per Hadwin’s request. “So… tell me more about this bet.” She requested first, looking for some frame of reference before she committed herself fully to this small excursion. “Who exactly bet you to make amends with…” The warrior didn’t finish, before the answer was obvious. She heaved a sigh. “Teselin.”
Haraldur waited for the sting of Vega’s disappointment, the upset which wavered through the stone and penetrated his ears. He knew she was crying, and there was little to nothing he could say to allay her tears. Far from gifted at oration, stirring speech, or hope-driven banter, he sat in the dark, falling to his own silence. “I know it’s hard for you,” he said, at last. “I’ll never relate with just how strenuous it is to carry two children, and to be forced into inaction because any risky move could endanger the lives inside you. I’ll never know that frustration, and I’m sorry I can’t make any of it go away, or ease your pain, by being there, like I should. It may not be months until I see you again, Vega, but I have to give you a more realistic time-frame. It’s better to overestimate than underestimate. If I have to lead the Forbanne, it could take a while to find a replacement leader in my stead. Or if I march with them to Eyraille, what dangers I might encounter on the road, so close to Mollengardian territory. This,” he lowered his voice, “is hard for me, too. The thoughts that are running through my head right now, the...terror of facing my captors after so long. It’s brutal to bear it alone.” For the first time since he began speaking to Vega, he lifted his flagon of whiskey and took several liberal gulps of the amber substance.
“...If there’s any hope for me, tell me it’ll be all right, Vega. I’m losing faith. The nightmares won’t end. I have to drink myself to sleep, and force food into my mouth, force every interaction so I don’t freeze up and succumb to the hold they have on me. Tell me I’ll make it. Tell me I’ll be fine.” But he heard no response. The glowing ceased, and any warmth in his hand deadened into subterranean cold. He shivered, as though globs of dirt were being shoveled into his premature grave. Standing, he took the flagon and the stone, and traveled restlessly through the estate. He drank until he stumbled, and stumbled until he reached his shared bedchambers. When he closed his eyes, it was inviting blackness that overtook him. And when he opened his eyes to a new day and a splitting headache, the blackness had stolen his words, his emotions. Numbness pervaded. For the days following the evacuation, he scarcely spoke. To anyone.He was an obedient soldier, and soldiers had no need for trivialities. The sooner I can get this done, the sooner I get to go home. Shut the rest down; it doesn’t matter right now...
Though he did not show it, Alster was as similarly exhausted as Elespeth, after their night of magical exhibitions. While ‘blessed’ with the Serpent’s stamina, he was not immune to the physical rigors of the union--and it had reached physical heights, to the point where they needed to reserve a long break in between just for breathing. Much though his battered body wished to rest, the desire in him insisted they go all night--that they go on forever. If they could break down into pure energy and streak into the cosmos, riding along the stars and oblivion, such legendary endurance would be a possibility. No more limitations, and no mortal responsibilities required to upkeep their flesh-based, rotting carcasses. No need for food or replenishment. They’d burn, and burn, and burn--and radiate over the infinitude of their shared universe.
But when he awoke that morning, it was into a mortal body he crashed. He stretched out of bed, awkward in his diminutive, breakable form, fused together in places by scrap metal, and limping along from the kinks in his back and shoulders. Ridiculous, he thought. Even this body doesn’t suit me, anymore…
Shortly, he’d arranged his best face for Elespeth, emulating the Alster Rigas she preferred, an aspect all too easy for him to don. Together, they dressed. Together, they teased and bickered about sleep over sustenance (an argument which Alster won, handily). And together, they headed out of Chara’s villa, tired, albeit satisfied in each other’s company.
When Hadwin emerged on the scene, offering plates of food customized according to their diets, Alster’s curiosity lowered his guard. He sensed no threat or mischief from the wolf-man, and so, when Elespeth agreed to join him independent of her partner, Alster complied by staying behind. True to his word, Hadwin stopped out of earshot near a tree, but remained visible and nonthreatening, with hands buried in his pockets and a shoulder leaning against the trunk.
“Ah, yes, the bet. You’ve got it right,” he nodded his head. “It was Teselin, all right. I was teaching her some poker last night. Thought it’d be fun to add some stakes. Loser gets to do whatever the winner wants. I let her win.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and tucked them between his underarms. “Figured she’d ask this of me. Now, mind, I’m not here to apologize for anything.” He lifted his head in triumph. “I did nothing wrong. ‘Course, you may argue otherwise, but that’s your opinion, and you’re entitled to it. And this…’peace offering’ doesn’t mean I like you, either. Frankly, it’s hard for me to see anything likeable about you. But,” he sighed, “I’ll call you Elespeth, and assist if you need me to, and talk ‘straight,’ or whatever. Can’t promise you much more than tolerance, but,” he extended a hand, “I’ll shake on it, for whatever my ‘word’ is worth to you.”
Over the next few days, the demand for everyone’s full attention inflated, to the point where all respective players to their designated roles were swept into their tasks, with little time for rest or reprieve. Between enchanting weapons, training Teselin, and transitioning into Chara’s position as Rigas Head, Alster saw less of Elespeth. Meals were scattered and hard to plan, and evening time, too tiresome to do more than sleep. But true to his word, he did set aside moments between breaks to instruct his fiancee on the use of her magic sword, guiding her on its significance as a bridge between them, and demonstrating the most effect methods of summoning and wielding both shield and concealment spells, respectfully.
“You will find a good bit of use in this concealment spell,” he explained, late one evening. “Chara can’t afford to lend you any concealment casters who will be able to hide you until Solveig’s ambuscade. You’ll want to remain hidden before it’s time, and Forbanne can’t see past the illusion. It’ll be up to you to cast this spell at a passable level of competency.” Before they started practice, he added, “do let me know if I’m a cruel taskmaster of a teacher, now that you’ll be experiencing it, firsthand.”
Among the warrior trio, Haraldur kept dedicated and focused on the formation, weaving through their coordinated movements with nary a misswipe from his bastard sword (which passed harmlessly through Sigrid or Elespeth’s skin, as per Alster’s prior enchantments). While he labored in his efforts, and achieved Sigrid’s set objectives for every session, missing was a large chunk of his presence. At the training, they saw Haraldur the mercenary soldier, a fierce and ruthless killer with a hyper-focus on his targets. A capable fighter, a steel trap of precision and force. But gone was Haraldur: friend, companion, cousin, or even comrade-in-arms. When asked about his trouble, he said little, if anything, and revealed nothing concerning his deep-seated apprehensions on the upcoming operation. On his off hours, he ate alone, stayed alone, retired to bed before Sigrid, and rose before she opened her eyes to dawn’s awakening glow. Sometimes, he was spotted with Hadwin, and the two often competed to see who would reach oblivion quickest.
The wolf-man, true to his blood-oath, ran reconnaissance into the heart of Mollengardian territory, reporting his findings to Chara and repeating the process anew, during daylight and evening hours. Apart from the occasional drinking contest with Haraldur, Hadwin was rarely spotted on the estate grounds, scarce even to Teselin, the likeliest candidate to attract his attention. Whatever intelligence Hadwin gathered, it passed from his mouth, into Chara’s waiting ear, and stayed there. No one else was privy to their private conversation, each rendezvous point a secret locale. Mollengardian spies lurked among the grounds of the estate, and they knew a storm was brewing.
Finally, the day of reckoning was upon them. While she had claimed not to require another meeting, Chara did just that, collecting the trio of warriors, Teselin, and Alster at the villa early that morning. Hadwin was nowhere to be found. Alster, frowning, looked to his cousin for clarity, but she responded with a flippant head toss. “Do not concern yourself over his whereabouts,” she said, and guzzled a glass of water as if it were wine. “He is already in Mollengardian territory, keeping his end of the bargain. As for you all,” she leveled a stern glance at every soul in the room, “here are some last minute details for how we are to proceed.”
“Sigrid,” she waved toward the de facto leader of the warrior group, “you are to head to the area as marked on the map I handed you the other day. According to Hadwin and other sources, Solveig will be passing along this avenue on her patrol, a string of defunct buildings--ideal for an ambuscade. You and Elespeth will hide nearby, preferably inside, and with your concealment shroud activated. Haraldur--you will engage, and lure her inside the building, blocking her escape route. The details of her defeat from here on out are up to you three. She will be en route around noon. Her entourage is variable, so prepare for multiple targets. If you succeed in your objective, Elespeth, use your sword to activate a bright blue beaconing signal--as Alster has taught you. On a failure, if you are able, send a red signal. No matter the result, Teselin and I shall proceed with our end of the plan, and the tidal wave will take form. Alster--you have both resonance stones and easy communication with Galeyn and Eyraille’s head Skyknight. You will act according to your own judgement for the evacuation. Is everyone clear on their roles?”
Whether the response was unanimous or not, Chara adjourned the meeting and bid them all to prepare for their assigned tasks. Alster loitered between Elespeth and Teselin, clasping their shoulders in a firm, supportive grasp. “This is it,” he said, his tone final and somber. “Where we all go our separate ways. Teselin,” he turned to her, “I taught you all that I could, in the time allowed. You’ve made so much progress, and improved vastly, since you first sought my help. Just remember what I said about redirecting your magic if it becomes too overwhelming. I trust that you’ll know what to do. Chara will be with you the whole time. It’s not the best consolation,” he quirked a smile, “but she’s not completely unpalatable company.”
He slid his arm from Teselin, and transferred it to Elespeth, where he took her into a hasty embrace. “I’ve done everything to prepare your arsenal for this fight, Elespeth. You have a sword that can channel my magic, and a ring that will protect you from death--but not from pain, or capture.” He attached a kiss to her lips. “I love you. Stay conscientious, and come back to me in one piece. Keep contact, keep me informed. And look after them,” he jerked his chin towards Haraldur and Sigrid. “As they, I’m sure, will look after you. I,” he drew from her touch, hands returning to his sides, “...I’ll see you on the other side, all right?” With a nod of farewell, he traveled to the doors that exited out of Chara’s villa--and was gone.
Why Teselin would’ve seen fit to mend the relations of a self-righteous, once-was knight, and a shapeshifter who spent more time in his alcohol and drug-addled world than in reality, would forever elude Elespeth. At the same time, Hadwin’s efforts did not go unheeded, particularly due to fact he was doing it for Teselin. Were it a bet lost to anyone else, she’d have questioned his ingenuity, but for the summoner… well, she would readily believe he would do anything for her. As if she were his own younger sister, flesh, blood, and soul.
“Noble of you to let her win; I can’t imagine she is any good at poker.” She mentioned, with a ghost of a smile. “She couldn’t lie or bluff to save her life… but, you frankly don’t owe me an apology, anyway. I think I realized that the other night. Around the same time I remembered that alcohol only magnified misery.” Elespeth’s smile faded, and for a moment, she allowed herself to relax into the truest form of her existence, something she’d been denying up until recently: something faded, hollow, and spent. “The truth is, you don’t really know me; not at all. Not the best version of me, I guess. Alster… knew that Elespeth, at one point. Unbelievable as it may sound, when I met him--back when we fought as double agents under the guise of serving mad prince Messino--I was actually a lot like Teselin. On the run from something bigger than I was, righteous and upholding honour that no longer belonged to me, but still desperately holding out for hope. That was before I saw my brother die. Before I nearly died, before I almost lost Alster, time and again. Somewhere along the way… that spark that keeps Teselin going, died in me, I guess. I’m not the same, and I won’t ever be. I can’t say whether you’d like who I was, a year ago, but the person you dislike now isn’t even the authentic Elespeth Tameris. And that is the reality that I face, now… which means, I have no grounds to judge Alster or mourn the person he used to be. He isn’t the only one who has changed.”
Swinging her arm forward, she accepted the wolf man’s peace offering, with about as much defeat as he offered it. “I do appreciate the offer to use my name.” She mentioned, flashing a grin. “And I appreciate that you don’t like me; there is then no pressure for me to like you, either. But I also have some unsolicited advice, that you might already realize. And that is not to hold your breath for the summoner. She can’t survive this: not that which is authentically her. War changes us, and though she has exhibited resilience up until this point, she is not impervious to pain and loss. And no one--not you, and certainly not her wretched brother--can save her from it. The more you choose to care for her… the harder that fall will be.”
Elespeth dropped his hand and stepped back. “I’m not saying this to be shrewd. I suspect you already know it. Take whatever comfort you can, in the absence of your own sister, but… just because we stand a chance of making it out of this alive, does not mean we stand a chance of making it out of here, fully intact with who we are. Teselin is no exception.” Her face softened, as if in apology. “You can’t protect her… however much you might want to. I couldn’t protect Alster; he couldn’t really protect me. We are all raw, and more vulnerable than we want to admit… I hope you can find your strength in something else.”
It was safe to say that when at last the day fell upon them--the day for which they had all been painstakingly preparing for the past week--nobody felt truly prepared. Uncertainty and fear emanated through the air, such that it was likely a boon to Hadwin that he was not present among the lot of them, for he’d have likely found it impossible to concentrate. Sigrid, though she felt confident in the formation she had taught to her brother and sister in arms, could not predict how the fight with Solveig would unfold, particularly because she had never witnessed the Mollengardian Captain in combat; none of them have, perhaps save for Hadwin, which left their main target no more predictable than any other wildcard, beyond the details of her whereabouts that day. Haraldur most certainly did not exude the confidence they so required to be successful, nor did Elespeth, whose heart raced and ached almost palpably at the notion that she would be leaving her fiance yet again, for an indeterminate amount of time.
For her own part, Teselin also writhed with nervousness that prevented her small body from remaining still, fingers fidgeting and toes tapping throughout their final meeting. Her past couple of training sessions with Alster had been fruitful, she had to admit, but inevitably they had also left her feeling exhausted. Even with the adequate sleep and full meals--Elespeth’s rules, to which she had obediently adhered--the young summoner was not used to exercising those forbidden muscles to the extent that she had, and she knew that it would take every ounce of what she was made of to be successful, today. It also occurred to her that, following the feat, she might not have what it took to find herself safely away; and that she could not rely on Chara to ferry her to safety, were that the case, but it was a risk she was willing to take. And for all she yearned to reunite with her brother… If the success of this plan determined that that would not be possible, then it was one she sadly accepted. Even if I am gone, if anyone can find me in death, she’d reassured herself, all through her sleepless night, then it is Vitali.
Alster’s reassuring hand on her shoulder brought her head out of its cloud of worry, and she hazarded a smile. “I might not feel ready; but I feel prepared.” She confessed, looking down at the toes of her boots. “I know what to do. I cannot control the consequences of what will follow… but I can control the sea, today. And I will.” Convincing her lips to tug into a smile, she added, “And I welcome Chara’s company. Despite the disharmony within this group… I take no issue with her.”
Of course you wouldn’t, Elespeth sighed quietly to herself, but the Atvanian warrior had long since come to realize that Chara Rigas was, like all of them, doing only the best that she could. She’d thought that Teselin was naive for her beliefs, but she was beginning to realize now that many of them were coming to the same conclusions: herself, Hadwin, Alster… the difference was, the young summoner hadn’t allowed her ego to get in the way of seeing the truth. “We have faith in you--all of us.” She said to the necromancer’s sister, a compliment that seemed to truly startle her. Elespeth couldn’t blame her; she hadn’t been particularly fair to the girl since her arrival. “And you’ve had the best possible mentor to guide you, this week. Listen to your gut feelings; you’ll know what to do.”
After giving the summoner’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze, the Atvanian warrior turned to Alster and fell into his embrace, relished the press of his body against her own one more time. Already, her heart ached in anticipation of his absence, but she had neither the time nor the space to be melancholy. “I can and will hold my own in battle. You know I’ll be just fine. We all will be.”
Reluctantly parting from him, Elespeth watched as her fiance walked away from her yet again, without knowing if or when they would meet when all of this chaos settled. But it wasn’t hope that she took with her, when she turned to Sigrid and Haraldur, her comrades in arms; it was determination. Hope was fleeting and effervescent, undependable. At this point, the former knight was in favor of carving out her own future with the tip of her sword.
There was no time to spare, if Chara’s intel was correct, and Solveig would be passing through the vicinity as indicated on the map at the time of day to which they’d been alerted. Sigrid and Elespeth spotted their cover immediately, but the former was not quite ready to part from the former mercenary. Something about Haraldur’s demeanor of late bothered Sigrid; similar to when Alster had clashed with Elespeth, something was off with her cousin’s energy, and it left her feeling uncertain. A deadly feeling before a deadly fight.
“Hey.” Before he could wander away to take up position to lure Solveig to her (hopeful) downfall, the Dawn warrior caught his shoulder and spun him around. Her eyes were bright, and sharp as the tip of her blades; the one in her hand, and Gaolithe, strapped securely across her back. “Remember: we are an extension of one another, Elespeth is the shield. She and I can hold our own, and she will have both my back and yours. Nothing reckless, and if things seem to be getting out of hand… well, I brought Gaolithe for a reason. But we have no backup plan, so we need to do this right the first time. Haraldur… do not forget yourself amid all of this.” Sigrid’s eyes softened, ever so slightly, the sharp edge of her blue irises catching the daylight. “Remember who you have waiting for you in Eyraille. You made a promise to Vega--and so did I. That I would see to it that you return safely. Do not forget who you are surviving for, Prince Sorde. Know that your wife will never forgive me if you do something reckless, and know that if you do become reckless… Elespeth or myself will be forced to break formation to save you, even if it compromises us. Please don’t force our hand to take that position, because for the honour of the Dawn Guard, I can’t and won’t hesitate to throw myself on a blade to save a man with a wife and two unborn children waiting for him. Now… go and lure that bitch of a Captain out here.”
Taking a step back, ferocity returned to her eyes, and she reached over her shoulder to brush her fingers against Gaolithe’s hilt. “I am eager to meet her.”
With those parting words, the Dawn warrior watched her cousin walk off, and joined Elespeth in the defunct building. Sunlight spilled from holes in the ceiling, and windows had been broken beyond repair. It looked to have been purposed for grain storage, based on the wheat, barley, and oats scattered across the ground in dirty mounds. Whatever had been salvaged had obviously been transported to a sturdier and more viable facility.
“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you to watch your back.” Sigrid said to the Atvanian warrior, as she crouched beside her. Elespeth was so still she thought she could feel her pulse in the floor. “Have faith in the formation. Haraldur and I are to cut down anyone accompanying Solveig, and we must rely on you and your blade to be our shield. We cannot have our eyes on you to watch for your safety all too frequently.”
“You won’t need to worry about that. With everything Alster has done to enchant this weapon, I can guarantee I’ll hold my own--and then some.” Elespeth didn’t take her eyes off the window as she spoke, so frozen in her position, and ready to strike when the moment was right. The determination chiseled into her features was unshakable. “You and Haraldur will be safe, on my guard. I understand my position in the formation, Sigrid.”
The Dawn warrior nodded, gripping the hilt of her own blade; already tainted at the tip with devil’s draught. “Good. Without full understanding and participation, our formation will crumble, and our edge with it… I reminded Haraldur of his stakes. I doubt I need to remind you of yours.”
“You don’t.” The former knight assured her, feeling the pulse of her bond to Alster through the scar on her hand. “I cannot forget.”
Amid the farewells between Alster, Elespeth, and Teselin, Haraldur made his quiet egress through the villa’s doors, and headed to his bedchambers to finalize all preparations on his end. Inside, he sank into a welcome privacy--Sigrid was either preparing in a separate space or taking part in her own farewell with the Kariji woman. Alone, he donned a cuirass, pauldrons, and bracers, and attached his bastard sword and short sword--nothing more. In his imminent encounter with Captain Solveig, he wanted his most reliable weapons on his person, ones that would not betray him, should the worst happen. Gone was the wedding band from his finger, a detail the captain would no doubt notice. Having borrowed a silver chain from Alster, he slid the ring over the knitted links, secured it around his neck, and tucked it out of sight beneath his shirt. It sat over his chest, a cold, welcome lump, and a reminder of his mother’s pendant. A reminder to keep his heart, his integrity...his humanity.
Later, he joined with Sigrid and Elespeth on their trek outside the Rigas gates, to the marked point on the map. They sidled close, walking in formation, Elespeth between them and with her sword drawn. A tint of magic arced over their heads, encapsulating them in a spell of concealment. As an extra precaution, they kept to the shadows of buildings and walked with slow, guarded steps. Always, they scoured the area, ensuring no other Mollengardian, Forbanne, or Solveig herself, stalked up, to creep among their blind spot.
After the arduous journey to the ambush area, they all agreed on a decommissioned grain storage unit for the setting of their battle. The building, a spacious, open plan, was ideal for their formation’s success, and as long as they blocked the entrance at Solveig’s arrival, they would maintain a favorable advantage. Locating a bulky crate in the far corner of the building, Haraldur half-hauled, half pushed it over, and rested it beside the gaping doorway. “It’s all we have,” he said, in a low whisper, “and it won’t do much, but when she arrives, one of us will have to move this crate to block the door. That will delay any reinforcements coming through to dispatch us.”
Once they coated their weapons with the small vial of devil’s draught, Haraldur sheathed both swords and nodded his unspoken confirmation to establish his position outside and on Solveig’s patrol path. Before he vaulted out the door, a now visible and exposed target, Sigrid pressed his shoulder and pulled him aside. He listened to her speech, expression devoid of everything but the will to achieve their desired result. No bright sheen reflected in his eyes; she could shine for the both of them. He relinquished the spark to her. To play his role convincingly for Solveig, he had to abandon his hope--any residual motes of life and light needed to vacate his presence. To shrivel into shadow, and darkness. Pretending to be Forbanne was as good as being Forbanne.
“I know,” he said, a terse reply to his cousin’s flooding concern. He rested a hand over his chest, where beneath, the ring’s soothing aura tingled along the tips of his fingers. “I’m protected, Sigrid. Focus on your end of the formation, and I’ll do my part. And look for Hadwin.” He frowned, the first show of emotion to mar his face. “I thought he was an instrumental part of this plan, but Chara seemed supremely dismissive about it all. I don’t know what we’re likely to expect...but expect the worst.”
Turning on his heels, Haraldur exited the building, leaving the latter two warriors alone to plan out their ambush. Stepping into the light of a cloudless, saturated day, he looked overhead, to track the patterns of the sun. Almost at its apex. The shadows beneath him, stunted and stubby. Hacked off at their limbs. Haradur proceeded forward, stiff-shouldered, but aimless. A soldier without a command. A drone without its queen.
He meandered down the rubble-strewn road, counting the minutes in his head, until he saw her. Certain as the reports claimed, the captain was on patrol, an imposing woman nearly a head taller than him. Her nose jutted pridefully outward, her close-cropped hair effulgent in sun-touched gold. At her sides trotted two men of a smaller size and girth, intimidating on their own, if not for the behemoth they accompanied. With her, they acted as a mere accessory, a to-scale comparison illustrating the might and fortress-build of their captain.
Three pairs of eyes landed on Haraldur as he approached.
“Are you Captain Solveig?” he asked, in the lifeless drawl of a Forbanne. The captain tilted her head at Haraldur and his presentation, curiosity melting in her molten brown eyes.
“Yes...” she answered, confusion elongating the space after the ‘yes.’ “And you? I don’t know you. You’re not with Mollengard, but I can tell that you were.”
“Central, First Regiment,” he saluted, fist to chest, thumb apart at a particular angle. She eased at this signal of authenticity, and dismissed his salute with a hand wave.
“Central Mollengard? Oh, you poor thing,” she tutted, nudging at her ‘guards’ for a reaction. They didn’t move. “How did you end up here, Centralian? This is a long way from your unit. And,” her eyes probed, “you’ve unraveled. The cruelties of life, they’ve gotten to you. However you ended up escaping, just know that it’s all over.” Stepping forward, she traced a hand over the contours of his cheek. Haraldur froze. The compulsion to please her, to do whatever she said, grew ever stronger. “I’ll requisition you from Central. Eastern could use a man with your specialized training.” Before he could act on his own, before he broke free and remembered: I am Prince Haraldur Sorde; I have a wife, a family, a family, a fam...she pressed her forehead to his, and an electric charge rattled through every fortified layer of his core. The mind-link inculcated his senses, scooped out his insides, and gutted him dry.
He was erased.
She grinned. “Now show me to your ambush site.”
Captain Solveig entered the old grain storage building, her new acquisition in step behind the guards. “Come out, my ambushers!” she cried, kicking the crate out of her way as easily as a child’s ball. It rolled, and smashed against the side of the wall, in a splinter of wood and desiccated wheat. A cloud of golden dust blew into the hollow, interior space. She drew no weapons, waltzing inside as though to join her assailants in a dance. “I know you’re using magical trickery to hide. But I can smell you!” In an abnormal burst of speed for one of her size, she flung a fist outward, and made contact with an assailant’s arm. She heard the opponent lose their balance and tumble to the ground. A flicker, and a failure of magic; the two ambushers appeared behind their sputtering shroud of concealment. Solveig, upon seeing the familiar face of Elespeth, laughed, a jolly belly-laugh that rattled the frail windows of the empty building.
“Should’ve known you’d be out for my blood!” With an oversized hand, she grabbed for Elespeth’s sword wrist, and twisted. A pop, then a clatter. The magic weapon dropped, and all efficacy with it. “I am not one to fool. I’ve known of your plans for awhile. As we speak, I’m having the building surrounded. But I don’t see why we can’t keep the fun to the four of us.” At her nod, she indicated Haraldur, who was locked in a fierce battle with Sigrid. Swords crossed, but neither made contact with skin; otherwise, Solveig would have seen his blades pass harmlessly through the Dawn Warrior.
“Looks like it’s me and you.” She skittered Elespeth’s blade to the far end of the building, and lifted the ex-knight by the shirt collar. “You think I need a weapon to kill you? I don’t!” With a running start, she smashed Elespeth against the wall, a violent, repetitive back-and-forth, that increased with ferocity. Solveig, a wild, charging bull, pinned, with glee, the fragile human who dared oppose a force unmatched by the most tempestuous of storms. “I’ll crush your bones. Pestle them into a fine powder, and snort the remains!”
A shrill, attention-seeking whistle sounded from the doorway, delaying Solveig’s next attack. “Couldn’t help but overhear, but--as someone who’s snorted before, bones aren’t going to get you that delectable high you’d be craving. Points for creativity, though.”
“Hadwin!” She didn’t turn, nor did she loosen her quarry. But from her periphery, she saw the wolf-shifter leaning against the doorframe, displaying his laissez-faire attitude in full. Urgency did not drive him to move from his position. He was merely lounging, a half-interested spectator who knew nothing of the rules of the game.
“Well, don’t sound so miffed!” He bit back in exaggerated frustration. “I brought you some aid--though it looks like you’ve got it handled. No surprise from the giant-lady.”
“Aid? Where--” She paused. Something did not feel right. An off-kilter, off-balance wrongness shuddered in her controlled hive-mind. The other Forbanne in the room felt it, too--Haraldur included. With Elespeth still clutched by the collar, Solveig turned toward the doorway. Hadwin entered, and moved aside to allow for a small procession of soldiers. Their collective bearing was different than their Forbanne counterparts. Autonomy controlled their individuality. An out of sync limb here, a less regimented sway there. Bright blue epaulettes draped across their uniforms. The Forbanne chain of command, beneath Solveig. When the last officer emerged from the doorway, Solveig noticed blood, and fallen bodies, outside the building.
“What is the meaning of this!?” She demanded to her officers. But they stared blankly at her, only carrying vestiges of their autonomy like a fading echo. They subsided before her eyes, reverting to Forbanne, but over which she had no control. No link.
“Oh yeah, thought I’d mention,” Hadwin effused, “bit of a coup happened while you were all busy with your powwow over here. They’re loyal to me, now.” He grinned a row of sharp canines. “What a trip, right?”
Solveig loosened her hold on Elespeth, her jaw grinding, then slackening. “That is nonsense! Officers, to me!” she commanded. They did not react. Hadwin continued on as if the interruption never happened.
“Except we both know I’d make a piss-poor ruler. So,” he shrugged, “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to let them go.”
By now, Solveig dropped Elespeth, and rushed at Hadwin. “Whatever you’re planning--”
“--Kill yourselves.”
“No!”
As one, the nine officers lifted their blades, and carved bloody smiles into their throats. Together, they dropped, choking and bleeding to death. Horror faltered Solveig's advance to Hadwin, who by then, sidled out of the way, grabbed for Elespeth’s discarded sword, and threw it towards its waiting owner. “Time to finish her off, don’t you think?” he barked at the warriors, including Haraldur, who seemed to return to some semblance of normal. The wolf-man’s expression hardened on Sigrid. It said; Now’s your turn to protect me!--as Solveig barreled towards him, engorged with rare, despair...and fear.
That’s it. Hadwin’s eyes glowed as he stood stock still. You’re mine.
