A night in Ralshev's Bay

By: Anedhel Posted on: June 30, 2015

In the dead of night, the thin branches of birch snapped merrily as the fire whiled away at them, sending a double helix of sparks into the starlit sky in an attractive, otherworldly dance. The sudden sound brought the two Knights sitting by the modest campfire out of their taciturn silence, pulling each from being thoroughly lost in thought. At first glance, save for the edge of softness to one’s face, and the slightly squarer shoulders of the other, they might seem to be twins of indeterminate gender, both beautiful and stern, as if they were statues carved of flesh- relics, perhaps, of some idealized past, when male and female were sublimate to an ideal of composure and serenity that counted for more than the attributes of the body. Their reverie broken, though, the timeless quality of their stares was suddenly dispelled beneath the smiles that cracked their stern visages, as each offered the other apology for being lost in thought.

The male was first to come back to the world, as it were, his back straightening as he squared his shoulders and his eyes flicked up towards the ever-wild darkness of the Meropian sky, that beautiful black-and-blue canvas dotted by the bright white pin-pricks of the stars that flickered so unapologetically overhead. In the mix of light- bright silver beneath the half-moon that cast its unveiled beams over the landscape, to carpet the world in a rich monochrome of shadow and texture, and the lambent orange of the campfire dousing his skin from below, he simultaneously looked at once both younger than before, and more distant. It was only after a long moment of stargazing that his voice broke above the crackling of the flames, and the soft murmur of the breeze. “Ial cyroen echad matha Ithil eden.” He relaxed slightly after his comment, his shoulders hunching just a shade receiving from the other a small nod, in acknowledgement. Her reply came in common, voice slightly more full of life than his, “It reminds me of when the world was younger, much younger. Before the flames of the settlements were visible further than a few miles from each.”

Once more, the two fell into thought, one into a vague vision of the future, and other into a vivid memory of a bygone era- though the vision of the future felt more real to the Tsol’aa, than the memory to the Human. It was, yet again, a shower of sparks from the campfire, born of an errant breeze, which stirred the fire’s insides and spilled them into the night that brought them out of their dour silence. Just before the male spoke, the rise of the flames illuminated them both; in the dark of night, the chainmail gleamed beneath the hem of their cloaks, wrapped loosely around their collars and just above similarly forged gorgets of silver, both trimmed in gold- though hers was inlaid with ivory phoenixes in flight, and his with pencil-thin engravings of swans taking wing, the tell-tale signs of personality set in steel that no Knight, it seemed, could ever avoid. “It does feel older, doesn’t it? As though time has passed differently, here. It almost seems like we might walk past a door, beyond an archway, and we will be in Seleucar again, looking upon a bygone time.” She nodded at that, but only smiled, in reply.

In the silence that followed the proclamation, the Tsol’aa drew his longsword in a lazy, yet somehow graceful gesture, to lay it gently across his knees, staring at the way the mixed fire-and-starlight danced upon the beautifully polished surface, casting a kaleidoscope of white-and-orange shards to dance over his boots and trousers. “It almost feels as if this silver has come home. We are not far, now, from Ralshev’s Bay. The coastline has changed over time; the ships of the lancers do not lie on the ocean floor, I found… they’ve actually been overrun by trees. One needn’t dive for them, anymore. Just dig.” This revelation draw a curious glance from his companion, who looked at him with an inquisitive look, amplified, perhaps, by the dancing light of the fire between them. “We’re really that close? I thought it was a few miles, still.” The Tsol’aa Knight smiled in reply, and shook his head. “We rode far, today. The horses brought us a good distance, and I had misread the map. I made the same mistake, before- it is out of date. The markers used in its making have changed… I think, and I may be mistaken, that the northwestern face of some of the mountains has been worn by something or another, and do not stand as tall as before. It must’ve been a more difficult journey, a few centuries ago. We are close.”

Those words were greeted only by another nod, and the Human seemed to take the male’s words on faith. After gently turning the longsword to-and-fro, only a couple of degrees, to watch the light dance its hectic steps upon the polished surface, the Tsol’aa spoke again, this time in his own tongue. “Iai avo ista il gost nur etta merenith, toltha celevon iaur bar. Leth’ai gost… haeron. Gwaichlir.” This prompted a look almost as curious as the first, but sharper, and less acknowledging than the last. “You say the strangest things, sometimes.” He laughed, at that, and nodded, dark hair swaying gently in the dark of night, before he replied only, “I know. I must not be the easiest of traveling companions.” The other shook her head, bound hair swaying only minutely, in contrast to his free-held mane, which billowed out every time the wind picked up, blowing its wispy tips this way and that in a chaos of movement. “No, it is not that. It is only that… well. Sometimes it feels as if you are living in your own world, apart from this one. It is hard to follow where your mind goes, when you retreat into silence, and then speak, suddenly.”

“I am sorry. I have been thinking, a long time, of having taken the ancient silver from its place of rest and reforged it to do battle, again. I do not think its owner would have minded, and it does not feel like a violation. But… perhaps it is better to let some things lie. Coming back to this place makes it feel like it is returning home, although its time is not done. There are still battles left to fight. I wonder if an ancient blade should be left to lie, if it would not be kinder, so. Some of us always bleeds into what we carry with us into battle, no? They become part of us, our swords, our steel. Surely there is enough in the swords of ancient heroes that they, too, deserve rest, no?” The Knight fell into silence, gazing down at the longsword upon his lap, its gold trim glinting under the campfire’s glow, brighter than the whitened silver beneath it. Suddenly, the other’s voice rose, as she answered, “All old warriors dream of second chances. Not many ever get it. Be glad for the gift of an ancient age- better silver than you would find now. Perhaps the metal of the old swords are be glad to be in service again. Those destined for greatness among the Faithful always are.”

“C’iel thin, Erwin.” He took the longsword by the hilt, and lifted it towards the sky, letting the starlight and the moon’s bright gaze gleam upon it, first one side, and then the other, from tip to cross-guard, before sheathing it carefully. “Perhaps that is what brought me here. Not hubris, or curiosity, but the will of the world. Ancient silver needed a chance to be born again, to be great again, and I was the right vessel for it. It would be a more fitting motive for a song, than my desire to possess something from another time, don’t you think?” He smiled in a slightly self-deprecating way, before his visage turned stern, again. She, however, replied with a gentle hint in her voice, “We are all moved, in one way or another by the will of the world, my friend. It is not right, I think, to say it is either or. You may have desired something, but that does not make it an impure, or unworthy, impulse. Be glad that you were moved, and rejoice in giving an old hero’s metal a chance to shine in the Sun once again.” “Ciel’thin, Erwin,” came the reply, accompanied only by one of those strange smiles of his.

On they sat in silence, his fingers tapping lightly against the jewel-bearing pommel of the much-discussed longsword, while she fidgeted with the inside lacing of her left vambrace, undoing the leather fastenings and re-lacing them several times, until the steel sat more comfortable against her forearm. Halfway through her work, she spoke softly, “I like being here. It is far enough that the weight of my office doesn’t seem to bear on me, quite so much. And I find that it is quiet enough that I can remember things that I can’t, really, in the Dawnspear. The weight of the present is always so firmly upon me that I can’t retreat more than a few decades into the past. Not really.” He smiled at that, looking suddenly more youthful, and he replied without a moment’s hesitation, “I am happy we are here, then. And, if I might be so bold… I envy you.” “Thaind?” Came her question, in the Aalen tongue, as their speech so often flowed between languages. “Thaind. Sennui al nauth, ial-gar olthai, said ahur.” She smiled softly, and shook her head, answering, “My memory is not as warm as you think. Not everything was beautiful, back then.” He agreed quickly, taken aback by the inconsiderate haste of his reaction, “I’m sure. It is only… I have little to fall back on. The moment I knelt before the Lightbringer, when I took my Oath, the first time we met… only a handful of things to draw comfort and resolve from. Mostly, it has been a blend of the same, day after day, in service. It tends to meld together, after some time.”

With a final tug, she finished affixing the vambrace to her arm with the most meticulous of airs, and she said, smiling down at her wrist and hand, “Perhaps this will be one more, then, to add to such an exclusive list.” He nodded at that, the genuine, youthful smile of his joyful agreement shining through what might have otherwise been a dour visage once again. “I am sure it shall be.” Before them, the thin wands of birch broke apart, crackling cheerfully before collapsing into a dying bed of embers, rather than the bright orange conflagration that burned away in the pit just seconds earlier. “I hope we find what we came for. I should love to find more relics, for reforging. I had thought of bathing a blade in silver, for you, but I know your own is such a personal instrument that it would feel wrong. Nevertheless, I had thought of a worthy gift for you, for all you have done, for a long time, but I could never settle upon anything.” She smiled at him, somewhat strangely, as if he had said something very silly, her eyebrows knitting and then relaxing as she answered, with a gentle note in her voice, “This is already a good gift. It is nice to get away from everything for a time, silver at the end of the road, or no.”

Once more he laughed, his bright grey eyes made youthful by the joy gleaming in them. “That is good to hear.” Hooking his fingers under the heavy white fabric bunched at his throat, he looked up at the sky again, and he said, “It is a good night to be here. The stars shine bright, and the weather has cleared, to the east. The search will be easy, tomorrow. I am hopeful, very hopeful.” She nodded in assent, but her next words were less confident and unabashed than his own. “I know we ought to sleep, to be fresh for the morning, but… let’s sit here, a little while longer. Just a little while.” He smiled and nodded, his hair swaying in the dark again, and he said, “Of course, my Lady. As long as you’d like.”

A few yards away, the horses stamped their impatience at the night upon the soft grass, bruising it under iron-shod hooves, their tails swishing loudly against the smoke-ridden air. From a distance, the two Knights that had shared such an intimate, if brief moment, might have seemed to go back to their dormant state, statues carved of flesh, and bone, and cloth, and steel; their heads slightly bowed, and their bodies stock-still as thoughts overcame each- although this time, he was lost in memory; the memory of his first meeting with her, and she in a vision of the future; a future filled with the painstaking labor of bringing ancient metal to the feverish fury of life in the Dawnspear and the rewards of work well-done that eternal satisfaction handed from smith to smith every time a project is finished to perfection. As they drifted into silence, and the red and white glow of the embers began to die under the unstoppable corrosion of the passing hours, there was only one more instant of speech, unmistakable and still quiet, almost as if it were a loud secret meant only for her, with the entire wilderness of the Meropian coast in on it: “Iel merin na-nev lau-dar, Erwin. Niath merin.”

Only as the Daystar broke the horizon, drowning the silver-white monochrome of the Moon’s gaze under the brilliant palette of purples, golds, reds, and oranges of the Dawn did life return to the two Knights, as the elder replied, in a voice as quiet and intimate as his own, and as smoothly as if only seconds had passed between the last words spoken in the night that had just died, instead of the hours it had taken for the Sun to come up, “I am happy to have been here with you tonight, too. Very happy.”