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<blockquote data-quote="The_Universe" data-source="post: 1861585" data-attributes="member: 8944"><p><strong>Life and Death</strong></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">They set a place for him at the table, that night. His drink went undrunk, his food uneaten. Across a sea of grass and stone he lay, cradled in steel, showing the moonlight the last of his scars. That night, their tears were shed in joy and celebration. </span></span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">Mostly. </span></span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">As must happen , a few tears were shed in sorrow. As they stared deep into the gathered darkness, wreathed and warded in light, they were – for the first time – truly afraid.</span></span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">* * *</span></span></p><p></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Varis Greyclaw stood on the first step of the Queen’s dais, nervously shuffling his feet. He was waiting. Varis hated waiting. He had hated it since he was a child. He was a man of action. He wanted to march back into the twisting labyrinth of the old palace’s halls and find her. He would march her to the dais himself, they’d say the words, and it would be done. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">He also knew it wasn’t that easy. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and looked out into the torchlit hall, out across a room that had housed untold generations of Alder kings and queens – his ancestors. Behind him, the darkness began to bleed orange, and he knew that the time was near. As morning’s first light pushed its tendrils into the hall, Varis sighed at his own failure. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">This was supposed to be a secret, of sorts. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">The throne room was packed, his people pushing their way into the ancient halls of the castle, desperate to see something <em>good </em>happen as the world crumbled around them. Some of them were already crying. He felt his own throat burning, an unfamiliar pressure rising from behind his ruby eyes. Was <em>he </em>going to cry? He thanked the Light for the now-fading darkness, as he brought his dusk colored fingers to the corners of his face. No tears had been shed. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">His heart was pounding. She had to hurry. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">He risked a glance over his shoulder, allowing himself a small smile as he saw the Queen upon her throne. They had carefully planned her part in this, calculating every moment so that she would not have to stand; so that she would not be forced to put her weakness on display for her stripling kingdom.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">This was the first state wedding. Even over his happiness, Varis knew that some small part of everyone here had wished that this marriage was hers, not his. She had bled, sacrificed for them, and they knew it. Before that day she would have died for them. After it, they all would have died for her. They had been his people, once. Now they were hers. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">But this was not the woman that had drawn him here. The Queen was not the woman who seemed to carry the very dawn in her smile. <em>That </em>woman was still coming, and she was taking her sweet time. Varis could have killed her!</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">No, he couldn’t kill her. But he could kiss her. <em>By the Light</em>, he thought, <em>let me kiss her soon!</em></span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">He glanced back over the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of his bride in the slowly brightening hall. They had simply arrived, hours before dawn, silently demanding a part of what was now occurring. They had not come to beg, expecting nothing more than a chance to watch one of their own find a piece of light in the lengthening shadow. He hadn’t asked the Queen before he allowed them in, but she seemed pleased enough as they filed in, hundreds – perhaps thousands – of men, women, and children seeking what small solace a celebration could provide.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Suddenly, a gasp washed over the crowd; a tide of awe, of hope. They parted for her, pale ivory skin and red and gold cloth flashing like fire itself as she strode toward him. As dawn broke through the window, suddenly lighting the darkened hall, she smiled. <em>She smiled, and with it came the sun, itself.</em> Archonus walked to her left, guiding her down the narrow corridor between the crowds. Varis allowed himself a small, sad smile. There was no father to give her away – only a brother in arms. But Archonus would do. For all his faults, Varis had no doubt that he cared about his betrothed. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">She continued forward in reverent silence, as her grandfather – Preston – stepped up on to the dais, standing just right of the throne. He smiled over Varis’s shoulder, his dark blue eyes boring into his granddaughter’s own crystal-blue. She nodded, and then turned to Archonus, pecking him on the cheek, whispering something that Varis could not hear to her friend. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Archonus, himself the Marquis of Sylvanus, bowed to Varis, and then to Justice. Before he could fade back into the crowd, to join his own love, Preston’s commanding voice boomed over the whispering buzz of the crowd. “Marquis Archonus Arendorr, Lord Sylvanus,” he paused for a moment then, as if afraid someone would contest the honorific. Not someone. The doppelganger, the one who called himself Archonus Bluestar. But he did not object, allowing his twin the title of the city that he occupied. “Do you offer this woman freely to this man?” </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Archonus looked surprised. None of the hurried ceremony had been practiced, and Varis knew he had expected no part in it, save giving away the bride. His brief courtly education took over, then. “Before the Throne and the Light, I swear that I offer this woman freely. Her heart is her own, and I wish it well.” The words had a peculiar cadence, as if Archonus had forgotten that he had ever known them. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">But Varis nodded reassuringly. He had done as well as could be expected. Behind him, Preston nodded as well. “Who do you present to us, then, Lord Sylvanus, before God and Queen?” </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">The nobleman blinked for a moment, and then spoke with increasing confidence. “I give you Justice Fairweather, daughter of Katherine Preston, daughter of none.”</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Justice flushed at the mention of her father, a man known to none, so far as Varis knew. He wished that his mention had not been necessary, but Varis – like most nobles – knew that ceremony was important. They would not deviate here. Not much, anyway. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">“Then, before God and Queen,” Preston continued, “Let her step forward of her own free heart, and join hands with the man of her choosing.” </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">She did. As his charcoal hand closed around hers, he realized suddenly that he had not been breathing. He tried to hide his gasp, but he knew that she noticed. She smirked, her perfect features twisting in affectionate mockery. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Just as their hands met, the Queen spoke, her practiced voice carrying easily through the hall. She did not rise from her throne, but she commanded authority nonetheless. This, Varis knew, would be the departure from established ceremony. “I cannot allow a noble of the realm, in times as dire as these, to wed a commoner, no matter her stature as a warrior. The succession of the Greyclaw throne is no less important than my own will someday be.”</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">A gasp passed through the crowd. Varis was thankful he knew what was to come. “Justice Fairweather, daughter of none, cannot be allowed to marry this man. So the Throne has decreed!”</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Varis heard even more gasps, and risked a glance over his shoulder. Confusion. He watched as a woman near the front of the crowd fainted. Jaine needed to move on, quickly. Thankfully, she did. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">“Justice Fairweather, stepforward and kneel before your Queen.”</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Thankfully, Justice knew what was happening, and did as she was bid. Jaine continued, “You were born of noble blood, Justice, unrecognized by a kingdom of falsehood. Your nobility has shown through your every action, and the Throne is honored to have servants such as yourself. Arise, and go to your betrothed as a peer of this realm. You are now the Duchess Justice Fairweather, Lady Caer Melyn.”</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Her voice rang through the hall, the finality of the decree devastatingly joyous. With a single short speech, their Queen had laid claim to over half of Prydein. The implications were lost on some, but not all. The war was escalating, and she had used a wedding to let the world know.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Varis did not dwell on politics for long. His bride approached once more, her radiant smile capturing far more attention than the Queen’s announcement had. Her hand slid back into his, and together they turned to face her grandfather. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">He began without preamble. “Speak before the Light and the Throne, Duchess Fairweather and Duke Greyclaw, so that you might be joined, and become one in the Light.”</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">And they did. Varis remembered almost none of it after that, save the kiss. That, at least, went as rehearsed. </span></span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">* * *</span></span></p><p></p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">They set a place for him at the table, that night. His drink went undrunk, his food uneaten. Across a sea of grass and stone he lay, cradled in steel, showing the moonlight the last of his scars. But that night, their tears were shed in joy and celebration. </span></span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">Mostly. </span></span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">As must happen, a few tears were shed in sorrow. As they stared deep into the gathered darkness, wreathed and warded in light, they remained truly afraid. The Circle lay broken, and for all their joy, they had not mended it. </span></span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">* * *</span></span></p><p></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">His body had been embalmed, and carried into the palace one last time. He had received the blessings of a Queen, and been anointed by the tears of heroes. I stood well away from the procession as he was borne out of the palace, his face to the night-black sky. In the east, Aon crested the horizon, slowly bathing those of us who had gathered to watch him returned to the earth that birthed him. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">There were thousands gathered around the short path from the place of his final battle to the place of his final rest: a path of grass and cobblestone leading from an ageless palace of a forgotten king to a fresh-built temple to a forgotten god even he had never truly understood. His armor shone in the twilight between sun and moon, glowing silver-grey as one day died and another was birthed. His auburn beard had been cleaned and plaited, his gauntleted hands resting upon its ends. He lay, unmoving, platform rocking upon the shoulders of his last companions, a broken circle upon whom the fate of worlds depended. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">I marveled that while they stood tall with the latter weight upon their shoulders, the former seemed to weaken them. Yet onward they went, shuffling sadly in the slowly brightening grey of dawn. I watched as they bore him, one step at a time, toward the yawning edifice that marked his temple, and his tomb. They grey stone faded into the morning mist, its doors a hole in reality itself to which they would consign their friend.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">There were tears, but theirs were not the only ones. All around me, the sorrow was overwhelming. They had gathered to mourn, and mourn they did. Emotion ran so thick in the air I could have drank it, tasting their fears and longings. I did not. This was their time, not mine. So I watched. So I learned. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">The doors were made of steel, a fitting tribute to the fallen’s race. Some things, I was learning, never changed. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">But some things do. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">They came to a halt, crisp parade precision replacing their saddened stroll. The platform came off of their shoulders, placed gingerly on a bier of stone in front of the temple’s door. A priest of Thane’s religion came forward then, the sun and cross he had worn upon his shield now emblazoned across the old man’s tabard. Fascinating. He stood, facing the crowd – facing the fallen – the same man, I heard whispered, who had married the Duke of Oceanus to the Paladin. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">His voice echoed over the crowd, extolling the virtues of valor and a stalwart heart to those gathered. But this was not what held my attention. A blade, shining on the hip of the marked one. Twisting gold curved around the hilt, sweeping up into a crosspiece, and an emerald seemed to pulse from within the blade above the crosspiece. I was drawn to it. I felt it drawn to me, as well. Was it mine? How had it come here? How had he gotten it? This was a mystery worthy of my time, but I had doubts that I would be able to pursue it. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">I made up my mind to ask him, then. But certainty has always seemed my enemy. Another – a twin, alike in form and movement – appeared before me, standing in the shadows behind the Queen. I knew that the one below, near the Thanist priest was Archonus Arendorr. Who was this other? I would have to bide my time. Answers would come with time. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Time I had. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Lost in thought, I heard little of the Thanist’s speech. I should have listened – I would have liked to have known what had grown up around him in my absence. From what I did hear, it seemed that they had not made the mistake of revering him as a god. That, at least, had not been lost to time.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">But the eulogy came to an end, and as it did, the crowd parted, the sounds of mourning’s end momentarily overcome by the sound of militaristic marching. Hard boots thundering upon the earth, metal breastplates shining as the sun traveled higher into the sky. Heavenly flame danced across their backs, a full company of dwarven draconeteers, beards bristled and faces grim. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">From among them, I heard an order barked forth, a syllable from the old language that had nearly been lost when last I walked among them. Languages, like gods, abide.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">At the sound, they crashed to a halt, ranks crisp and precise. Another word, and they pivoted as if possessed of a single will. Another call, and wood and steel slammed home against ten score shoulders. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Their Queen (who had the look of one of mine, I would later think) signaled to one of them from her wheeled throne. Even as her hand descended, the air was rent by the sound of their fire. Thirteen volleys crashed to honor their fallen hero, the morning mist replaced with acrid drakesmoke. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">As the air grew quiet once more, the honor guard snapped their weapons down, and then swung them back up, barrels snapping skyward. As one, they dropped to a knee, honoring their liege, as the body was once more hoisted upon the shoulders of his companions. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">I did not see what passed among them inside the temple, but the specifics of it mattered little. They had honored the end of his journey, felt the strange sorrow one must feel when he learns that his battles are not yet all fought. They had faced death, and each had found much to want in their strength of spirit, in the depth of their conviction. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">As they emerged, more tears were shed. Those gathered were dismissed to their homes, or to the tents and shacks they had built in this lonely forest. Hyrwl was silent that day, thousands dead or lost mourned alongside a dwarven warrior who had made this cause his own. No hammers sounded in the simple smithies, no oven heated in the hearths of refuged bakers. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">And so it was, the first time I came among them. I walked among their people, I whispered to their children. I heard their tales, and told some of mine. </span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">They would do. They would have to, for the universe, and the Light that guides it had given me no others. They would do, <em>because</em> they had to. </span></span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">* * *</span></span></p><p></p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">And so they set a place for him at the table, that night. His drink went undrunk, his food uneaten. Across a sea of grass and stone he lay, cradled in steel, showing the moonlight the last of his scars. But that night, their tears were shed in joy and celebration. </span></span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">Mostly. </span></span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">As must happen, a few tears were shed in sorrow. As they stared deep into the gathered darkness, wreathed and warded in light, they remained truly afraid. They had seen death, and it had found them wanting. The Circle lay broken, and for all their joy, for all their sorrow, they had not mended it. </span></span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">* * *</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="The_Universe, post: 1861585, member: 8944"] [b]Life and Death[/b] [font=Times New Roman][size=3]They set a place for him at the table, that night. His drink went undrunk, his food uneaten. Across a sea of grass and stone he lay, cradled in steel, showing the moonlight the last of his scars. That night, their tears were shed in joy and celebration. [/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3]Mostly. [/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3]As must happen , a few tears were shed in sorrow. As they stared deep into the gathered darkness, wreathed and warded in light, they were – for the first time – truly afraid.[/size][/font] [center][font=Times New Roman][size=3]* * *[/size][/font][/center] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]Varis Greyclaw stood on the first step of the Queen’s dais, nervously shuffling his feet. He was waiting. Varis hated waiting. He had hated it since he was a child. He was a man of action. He wanted to march back into the twisting labyrinth of the old palace’s halls and find her. He would march her to the dais himself, they’d say the words, and it would be done. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]He also knew it wasn’t that easy. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and looked out into the torchlit hall, out across a room that had housed untold generations of Alder kings and queens – his ancestors. Behind him, the darkness began to bleed orange, and he knew that the time was near. As morning’s first light pushed its tendrils into the hall, Varis sighed at his own failure. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]This was supposed to be a secret, of sorts. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]The throne room was packed, his people pushing their way into the ancient halls of the castle, desperate to see something [i]good [/i]happen as the world crumbled around them. Some of them were already crying. He felt his own throat burning, an unfamiliar pressure rising from behind his ruby eyes. Was [i]he [/i]going to cry? He thanked the Light for the now-fading darkness, as he brought his dusk colored fingers to the corners of his face. No tears had been shed. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]His heart was pounding. She had to hurry. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]He risked a glance over his shoulder, allowing himself a small smile as he saw the Queen upon her throne. They had carefully planned her part in this, calculating every moment so that she would not have to stand; so that she would not be forced to put her weakness on display for her stripling kingdom.[/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]This was the first state wedding. Even over his happiness, Varis knew that some small part of everyone here had wished that this marriage was hers, not his. She had bled, sacrificed for them, and they knew it. Before that day she would have died for them. After it, they all would have died for her. They had been his people, once. Now they were hers. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]But this was not the woman that had drawn him here. The Queen was not the woman who seemed to carry the very dawn in her smile. [i]That [/i]woman was still coming, and she was taking her sweet time. Varis could have killed her![/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]No, he couldn’t kill her. But he could kiss her. [i]By the Light[/i], he thought, [i]let me kiss her soon![/i][/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]He glanced back over the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of his bride in the slowly brightening hall. They had simply arrived, hours before dawn, silently demanding a part of what was now occurring. They had not come to beg, expecting nothing more than a chance to watch one of their own find a piece of light in the lengthening shadow. He hadn’t asked the Queen before he allowed them in, but she seemed pleased enough as they filed in, hundreds – perhaps thousands – of men, women, and children seeking what small solace a celebration could provide.[/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]Suddenly, a gasp washed over the crowd; a tide of awe, of hope. They parted for her, pale ivory skin and red and gold cloth flashing like fire itself as she strode toward him. As dawn broke through the window, suddenly lighting the darkened hall, she smiled. [i]She smiled, and with it came the sun, itself.[/i] Archonus walked to her left, guiding her down the narrow corridor between the crowds. Varis allowed himself a small, sad smile. There was no father to give her away – only a brother in arms. But Archonus would do. For all his faults, Varis had no doubt that he cared about his betrothed. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]She continued forward in reverent silence, as her grandfather – Preston – stepped up on to the dais, standing just right of the throne. He smiled over Varis’s shoulder, his dark blue eyes boring into his granddaughter’s own crystal-blue. She nodded, and then turned to Archonus, pecking him on the cheek, whispering something that Varis could not hear to her friend. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]Archonus, himself the Marquis of Sylvanus, bowed to Varis, and then to Justice. Before he could fade back into the crowd, to join his own love, Preston’s commanding voice boomed over the whispering buzz of the crowd. “Marquis Archonus Arendorr, Lord Sylvanus,” he paused for a moment then, as if afraid someone would contest the honorific. Not someone. The doppelganger, the one who called himself Archonus Bluestar. But he did not object, allowing his twin the title of the city that he occupied. “Do you offer this woman freely to this man?” [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]Archonus looked surprised. None of the hurried ceremony had been practiced, and Varis knew he had expected no part in it, save giving away the bride. His brief courtly education took over, then. “Before the Throne and the Light, I swear that I offer this woman freely. Her heart is her own, and I wish it well.” The words had a peculiar cadence, as if Archonus had forgotten that he had ever known them. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]But Varis nodded reassuringly. He had done as well as could be expected. Behind him, Preston nodded as well. “Who do you present to us, then, Lord Sylvanus, before God and Queen?” [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]The nobleman blinked for a moment, and then spoke with increasing confidence. “I give you Justice Fairweather, daughter of Katherine Preston, daughter of none.”[/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]Justice flushed at the mention of her father, a man known to none, so far as Varis knew. He wished that his mention had not been necessary, but Varis – like most nobles – knew that ceremony was important. They would not deviate here. Not much, anyway. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]“Then, before God and Queen,” Preston continued, “Let her step forward of her own free heart, and join hands with the man of her choosing.” [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]She did. As his charcoal hand closed around hers, he realized suddenly that he had not been breathing. He tried to hide his gasp, but he knew that she noticed. She smirked, her perfect features twisting in affectionate mockery. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]Just as their hands met, the Queen spoke, her practiced voice carrying easily through the hall. She did not rise from her throne, but she commanded authority nonetheless. This, Varis knew, would be the departure from established ceremony. “I cannot allow a noble of the realm, in times as dire as these, to wed a commoner, no matter her stature as a warrior. The succession of the Greyclaw throne is no less important than my own will someday be.”[/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]A gasp passed through the crowd. Varis was thankful he knew what was to come. “Justice Fairweather, daughter of none, cannot be allowed to marry this man. So the Throne has decreed!”[/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]Varis heard even more gasps, and risked a glance over his shoulder. Confusion. He watched as a woman near the front of the crowd fainted. Jaine needed to move on, quickly. Thankfully, she did. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]“Justice Fairweather, stepforward and kneel before your Queen.”[/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]Thankfully, Justice knew what was happening, and did as she was bid. Jaine continued, “You were born of noble blood, Justice, unrecognized by a kingdom of falsehood. Your nobility has shown through your every action, and the Throne is honored to have servants such as yourself. Arise, and go to your betrothed as a peer of this realm. You are now the Duchess Justice Fairweather, Lady Caer Melyn.”[/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]Her voice rang through the hall, the finality of the decree devastatingly joyous. With a single short speech, their Queen had laid claim to over half of Prydein. The implications were lost on some, but not all. The war was escalating, and she had used a wedding to let the world know.[/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]Varis did not dwell on politics for long. His bride approached once more, her radiant smile capturing far more attention than the Queen’s announcement had. Her hand slid back into his, and together they turned to face her grandfather. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]He began without preamble. “Speak before the Light and the Throne, Duchess Fairweather and Duke Greyclaw, so that you might be joined, and become one in the Light.”[/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]And they did. Varis remembered almost none of it after that, save the kiss. That, at least, went as rehearsed. [/font][/size] [center][font=Times New Roman][size=3]* * *[/size][/font][/center] [font=Times New Roman][size=3]They set a place for him at the table, that night. His drink went undrunk, his food uneaten. Across a sea of grass and stone he lay, cradled in steel, showing the moonlight the last of his scars. But that night, their tears were shed in joy and celebration. [/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3]Mostly. [/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3]As must happen, a few tears were shed in sorrow. As they stared deep into the gathered darkness, wreathed and warded in light, they remained truly afraid. The Circle lay broken, and for all their joy, they had not mended it. [/size][/font] [center][font=Times New Roman][size=3]* * *[/size][/font][/center] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]His body had been embalmed, and carried into the palace one last time. He had received the blessings of a Queen, and been anointed by the tears of heroes. I stood well away from the procession as he was borne out of the palace, his face to the night-black sky. In the east, Aon crested the horizon, slowly bathing those of us who had gathered to watch him returned to the earth that birthed him. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]There were thousands gathered around the short path from the place of his final battle to the place of his final rest: a path of grass and cobblestone leading from an ageless palace of a forgotten king to a fresh-built temple to a forgotten god even he had never truly understood. His armor shone in the twilight between sun and moon, glowing silver-grey as one day died and another was birthed. His auburn beard had been cleaned and plaited, his gauntleted hands resting upon its ends. He lay, unmoving, platform rocking upon the shoulders of his last companions, a broken circle upon whom the fate of worlds depended. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]I marveled that while they stood tall with the latter weight upon their shoulders, the former seemed to weaken them. Yet onward they went, shuffling sadly in the slowly brightening grey of dawn. I watched as they bore him, one step at a time, toward the yawning edifice that marked his temple, and his tomb. They grey stone faded into the morning mist, its doors a hole in reality itself to which they would consign their friend.[/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]There were tears, but theirs were not the only ones. All around me, the sorrow was overwhelming. They had gathered to mourn, and mourn they did. Emotion ran so thick in the air I could have drank it, tasting their fears and longings. I did not. This was their time, not mine. So I watched. So I learned. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]The doors were made of steel, a fitting tribute to the fallen’s race. Some things, I was learning, never changed. [/font][/size] [font=Times New Roman][size=3]But some things do. [/size][/font] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]They came to a halt, crisp parade precision replacing their saddened stroll. The platform came off of their shoulders, placed gingerly on a bier of stone in front of the temple’s door. A priest of Thane’s religion came forward then, the sun and cross he had worn upon his shield now emblazoned across the old man’s tabard. Fascinating. He stood, facing the crowd – facing the fallen – the same man, I heard whispered, who had married the Duke of Oceanus to the Paladin. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]His voice echoed over the crowd, extolling the virtues of valor and a stalwart heart to those gathered. But this was not what held my attention. A blade, shining on the hip of the marked one. Twisting gold curved around the hilt, sweeping up into a crosspiece, and an emerald seemed to pulse from within the blade above the crosspiece. I was drawn to it. I felt it drawn to me, as well. Was it mine? How had it come here? How had he gotten it? This was a mystery worthy of my time, but I had doubts that I would be able to pursue it. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]I made up my mind to ask him, then. But certainty has always seemed my enemy. Another – a twin, alike in form and movement – appeared before me, standing in the shadows behind the Queen. I knew that the one below, near the Thanist priest was Archonus Arendorr. Who was this other? I would have to bide my time. Answers would come with time. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]Time I had. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]Lost in thought, I heard little of the Thanist’s speech. I should have listened – I would have liked to have known what had grown up around him in my absence. From what I did hear, it seemed that they had not made the mistake of revering him as a god. That, at least, had not been lost to time.[/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]But the eulogy came to an end, and as it did, the crowd parted, the sounds of mourning’s end momentarily overcome by the sound of militaristic marching. Hard boots thundering upon the earth, metal breastplates shining as the sun traveled higher into the sky. Heavenly flame danced across their backs, a full company of dwarven draconeteers, beards bristled and faces grim. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]From among them, I heard an order barked forth, a syllable from the old language that had nearly been lost when last I walked among them. Languages, like gods, abide.[/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]At the sound, they crashed to a halt, ranks crisp and precise. Another word, and they pivoted as if possessed of a single will. Another call, and wood and steel slammed home against ten score shoulders. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]Their Queen (who had the look of one of mine, I would later think) signaled to one of them from her wheeled throne. Even as her hand descended, the air was rent by the sound of their fire. Thirteen volleys crashed to honor their fallen hero, the morning mist replaced with acrid drakesmoke. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]As the air grew quiet once more, the honor guard snapped their weapons down, and then swung them back up, barrels snapping skyward. As one, they dropped to a knee, honoring their liege, as the body was once more hoisted upon the shoulders of his companions. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]I did not see what passed among them inside the temple, but the specifics of it mattered little. They had honored the end of his journey, felt the strange sorrow one must feel when he learns that his battles are not yet all fought. They had faced death, and each had found much to want in their strength of spirit, in the depth of their conviction. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]As they emerged, more tears were shed. Those gathered were dismissed to their homes, or to the tents and shacks they had built in this lonely forest. Hyrwl was silent that day, thousands dead or lost mourned alongside a dwarven warrior who had made this cause his own. No hammers sounded in the simple smithies, no oven heated in the hearths of refuged bakers. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]And so it was, the first time I came among them. I walked among their people, I whispered to their children. I heard their tales, and told some of mine. [/font][/size] [size=3][font=Times New Roman]They would do. They would have to, for the universe, and the Light that guides it had given me no others. They would do, [i]because[/i] they had to. [/font][/size] [center][font=Times New Roman][size=3]* * *[/size][/font][/center] [font=Times New Roman][size=3]And so they set a place for him at the table, that night. His drink went undrunk, his food uneaten. Across a sea of grass and stone he lay, cradled in steel, showing the moonlight the last of his scars. But that night, their tears were shed in joy and celebration. [/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3]Mostly. [/size][/font] [font=Times New Roman][size=3]As must happen, a few tears were shed in sorrow. As they stared deep into the gathered darkness, wreathed and warded in light, they remained truly afraid. They had seen death, and it had found them wanting. The Circle lay broken, and for all their joy, for all their sorrow, they had not mended it. [/size][/font] [center][font=Times New Roman]* * *[/font][/center] [/QUOTE]
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