Peacemaker

Father,

You haven’t written me in weeks and I’d thought I’d check in on you. Somebody should. You’ve kept to yourself an awful lot following the Legion’s fall. At first, I chalked it up to you no longer sharing an apartment with your friends but after some digging it appears that you are no longer on speaking terms with them. For Light’s sake Father, you need to keep a better hold of them seeing that those are the only ones that you’ve had consistently for ages. And don’t give me this rubbish that they’re just colleagues, colleagues don’t rent an apartment together, no matter what you may say.

How have you been? My department needs more funding, as always, but I don’t think natural sciences are a big priority of the Crown now that the economy might be ramping up for war footing- again. What’s the Sunguard going to do when it breaks out? I won’t have my father dying because some foreign Queen wanted to start a resource war.

Your Loving Daughter, Zharia.

“Do you like the lab?” Arrenir asked as he entered the sterile environment with the hum of purprle protective fields resonating in the background.

“You do know that we have a perfectly good workbench in the infirmary right?” Lirelle looks about the room incredulously, keeping her hands off any and all surfaces.

“And what happens if it explodes into life and we have ourselves a Gorgrond situation?” He raises an eyebrow as he ensured that his gloves were flush against his strong hands.

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[Because I am a fool, and Elleynah is too, there are several parts to this seasons gifts! This round is for @retributionpriest, @thepilgrimofwar, @felthier, @azriah, @sakialyn, @lissanaria, and @cynfuldax!]

Outside, magical carolers wandered the streets, constructs meant to lift spirits and charm passerby. She certainly enjoyed the songs that drifted into the infirmary, though with a start, Elleynah realized the time. She had more gifts to wrap, and her day was growing shorter by the moment.

The morning had lengthened into afternoon while she had worked, and some kind mender had dropped off a mug of steaming honey-mint tea. She had… taken a liking, to the flavor. Taking a long sip, she marveled at the sounds of the season.

[[ Left with several other letters for the occupants of the apartments rented by Lirelle, Sederis and Arrenir, the letter addressed to Arrenir is stuffed with pink, perfumed petals and gorged with playful pestering clear even in words bereft of Caeliri’s lilting voice. Every envelope is scorched at the edges, marked with tiny talon prints and little beak-bites from the flaming delivery bird - who needed more training still.]]

Lord Silversun,

Thank you for all the work you did the other night in crafting a feast fit for Lords and Ladies of the Thalassian court - thank you doubly for your tender touches and your attentiveness to my inability to gorge myself as I desired on all that you had to offer. Another night, perhaps I may be graced with something greater - as it stands, the sight of you flushed and merry makes my heart flutter still.

Whatever else she proclaims, Lirelle is lucky to have your affections; I’m sorry that she’s such a difficult dolphin. But that is why she’s so lovable, no?

I hope to see you again soon - perhaps a dinner date, with just us too? You could take me out on the town again and give me more gifts like last time!

Waiting with baited breath, Dame Dawnsworn

At the very end of the letter, stuffed in the smallest available corner is an addendum.

P.S. - This is Caeliri. Incase that wasn’t clear.

You are most welcome. I take both great pride and pleasure from giving my all in all things I do, be it the craft of culinary arts or tender touching. It is incredibly flattering to know that my appearances have some measure of effect on you- but if I recall, tis’ not I alone that was flushed scarlet that night.

As for the topic of Lirelle, my favorite topic I might add, I must say that she is difficult because she plays by no rules but her own. That is why she has my affections. She is an otherworldly creature that has no business in the realms of mortals. Untouched by greed or ambition, there is a purity to her being that words cannot fully describe.

But that’s enough about her for now, surely more words can be shared across a dinner table where you’ll be the center of my attentions instead.

Lord Silversun.

A similar addendum is found at the opposite corner where her’s had been written.

colored sketch gold commissions for @retributionpriest

Arrenir laid in his deathbed, his daughter by his side, holding him by the hand. For days now, he had told her about his life, agreeing to take water and- if not food- at least anesthetics to dull the agony of starvation.

“And then?” She asked.

“And then nothing. That is all I had to say. Those are all my stories.” He spoke with a hollow voice that begun to fail, his will to live seeping from his grip.

“Not this one. I want to know how this one ends.”

“With a man who wasted into nothing.” Arrenir looked at her, the light in his eyes- that excitement with which he shared his life just moments earlier- was gone. “My wife is dead. My lands are black and blighted. That’s all I ever lived for.”

“And me?” Zharia felt her heart leap in her chest. “I forbid you to die.” She stated, with gravity of the world in her voice. “If you ever cared about me. If you ever loved your daughter- and not just pretended to all this time- you will live.” The woman of rose gold hair sneered at him, tears escaping from her eyes.

“My life is a book I don’t want to read anymore.” Arrenir whimpered in a voice that was more authentic than any that he used in his life. In his tone, was the fear of disappointment he carried with him through the ages.

Zharia looked him in the eyes. “A book? You live your entire life as you would a series of books. Books of someone else’s creation. How to rule a land. How to have a happy marriage. How to raise a child. Does this not bother you?”

Though the drugs had taken away the pain, and some of the hunger- it did not dull the knife in his heart. “Of course not!” With whatever strength he had left, he yelled, for the first time in plain honest anger. “Without books, I have nothing- I wouldn’t know the first thing to do! How do live? How to love? I have no answers for that!”

“No one does father!” His daughter dropped his hand, rose to her feet. “Nobody has the answers, not even the books you mimic nor the authors who wrote them! We all make it up as we go along.”

Arrenir stayed silent, watching in awe as Zharia explained herself.

“You can’t plan for life! You can’t plan for love! Life is unbelievably complex and no one knows what tomorrow is going to bring.” A smile crept upon her face, as examples came rushing through her head. The possibilities as varied and numerous as the years to her long life. “I could fall in love tomorrow in the ruins of our people. I could be married and with a child in the span of a year.”

“And I could be dead.” The man added stoically, to which Zharia simply shook her head, wiping passionate tears from her cheeks.

“True, and I can’t stop it. I can’t make you be anyone who you don’t want to be- and I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. Even live.” She laughed at her hypocrisy. Knowing that although she had forbade him to die just moments earlier, he had no true power over him. “But what I can do, is invite you.”

“Invite me?”

“To love.” She smiled at him sweetly, anger forgotten in preference of a plea. “To stay.” Zharia took his hand again and pressed it to her cheek. “To live.”

“Father?” Asked Zharia, creeping up behind Arrenir as he poured over ancient family albums. “Looking through those again?” They were filled with drawings of him and Elissia in moments of candidity, captured by his daughter’s steady hand.

Rubbing his fingers over a charcoal replica of himself, laughing with his wife, he turned round to face his daughter. “We look so happy here.” Arrenir commented.

“Because that’s what I saw as a child.” Zharia placed her hands over her father’s, leading them to close the album before him. “That’s not to say that you can’t be happy now. All you have to do is tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“The truth.” She whispered in hushed tones.

“That I never wanted to be a husband or a father?” Arrenir slipped his fingers out of his daughter’s grasp. “She already knows that Zharia. Your mother prefers if we continued with the illusions- It makes the marriage easier to swallow for both of us.”

“Easier to swallow?” Zharia replied with a look of apprehension. “You love each other- If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be pouring over these albums in the dead of night and mother wouldn’t forbid either of you from having lovers on the side. You two just need to- to-”

“To what?” Arrenir gave her a pensive stare as she trailed off. She didn’t have any answers, not to a question that only the couple knew. All that Zharia knew was that she wanted her parents to have a happy marriage. That beyond all the smiling and laughter were two unhappy people going through the motions- doing what was expected of them- as if it was enough.

But to the Lord of the Silversun family, it had to be enough. Duty came before all things. Even love. Especially not when you had to force it.

“It’s almost as if you don’t want to try.” His daughter spoke, collecting the albums and placing them back in the drawers one by one.

“Try? Try what?”

“Try what?” Zharia looked at her father, an incredulous look on her face. “Try what? Try becoming the couple you see in these books!” She threw one of the albums to the floor, illustrations spilling across white marble. “Try becoming a real couple that stays together because they want to- Not because they can!”

The girl wiped a stray tear from her eye. “Try giving me a real family. Not this illusionary bullshit.”

Arrenir sat down with his new bride upon their bridal bed, his palms pressed against the top of his lap. Elissia was a timid girl, one who hid under the gossamer veil that hovered over her fiery hair that was held in a braid. Unsure of what was now expected of her behind closed doors she clenched the skirt of her wedding dress with nervous fingers.

“So. We’re here.” Said the Lord of the Silversuns, breaking the oppressive silence. “I know you only went through with this because your grandparents were marrying you off, and I was the best candidate. That said, you don’t have to love me. We do this for the sake of our families and the ones we love and I understand that.” He tugged off a ribbon tie that held his colonial pony tail, letting his hair cascade over his shoulders. “Regardless, I’m going to look after you. I’m going to make this work. If you need lovers on the side, I’ll understand. But I’m going to make this marriage as comfortable as possible for you.” Arrenir offered his hands to her, placing her trembling hands into his. “Which means, I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

The girl seemed to ease and Elissia looked up at him with her emerald tinged eyes. “You’re not what I expected.” She spoke quietly. “I thought you’d be obnoxious, insatiable, eager to impress and- and… I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything.” He gave her a warm smile.

A young Arrenir snuck through the undergrowth, a rifle in his hands. Over the years, he had grown accustomed to hunting- a love for it even- as it was the only time he was allowed out of the house due to his poor health. After decades of this, gone was the frail boy who stood by his father’s bed, but a stronger, fuller man.

His rifle was heavy, not only with the weight of the wood and steel that made it, but with power as well. The thing in his hand, this tool, was designed with the purpose to kill. With it, Arrenir could decide- with a pull of a trigger- what lived and what died; like a sword that required skill or finesse. It was for this reason, he carried it with reverence and respect.

Arrenir had never ventured this far out into the Daymeadow woods, but today was the death anniversary of his father and he wanted to be alone; and nothing comforted him more the lonely sounds of wind between ancient trees.

Tracking a deer, Arrenir went off the trampled vegetation and broken twigs that it had left in its wake. He followed the signs to the edge of the tree line, where he was greeted by a sight that he did not expect. With his sights trained on the deer, he saw that the creature stood at the edge of golden cliff; clouds swirling beneath it as the sun began to sink into the distant mountains. The sight knocked the wind from his chest, stealing breath from him quicker than any flirtatious glance he had been given prior.

Arrenir lowered his rifle, coming out of the vegetation. The deer paid him no mind, staring off at the sunset as if it was enjoying the view as well. Like a spellbound thrall, he gazed transfixed at the majesty of nature. He had spent so long taking life from the forest, he hadn’t actually sat and just marveled at it all.

He was lucky, Arrenir thought. Many didn’t get second chance to reconnect with someone they loved. Many more didn’t have the luxury of dying beside them.

Over the next few days, in an act of reconciliation, he told Zharia about his life. For the time being, he accepted food and water, knowing that he needed to at least live long enough to tell her his story. At first, he tried telling her snippets that his spotted memory would allow- but she could not follow, Arrenir decided that he needed to start at the beginning. The memory of a frail boy standing beside his father’s death bed.

“Arrenir.” His father gasped, his bandages barely keeping his wounds closed.

“Yes father.” The boy replied dutifully.

“After I’m gone, no one will care about you: Arrenir the boy. If Arrenir the boy took control of the Daymeadows and the mantle of House Silversun, your neighbors will descend upon you. Carve up the lands that are yours by birthright. Throw you out into the streets to fend for yourself. I won’t have that.” The man coughed and Arrenir stood closer to him.

“What do I do?” He asked, trying his best not to cry.

“You must be Arrenir the Lord.” The warrior, gutted by an Amani spear, used the last of his strength and gestured for the dozen advisors that stood at the edges of the room. “I entrust the lot of you. If you care about your positions. If you were ever loyal to me. You will be loyal to my son. Make the boy strong beyond his years, and see to it that the house remains strong in my absence.”

The warrior was replied with nods and murmurs of agreement. With his final request made, Arrenir’s father let out one final breath, staring into middle distance where lady death lay.

“Father?” The boy called for the voice he’d never hear again. His heart tore at his chest, not sure what to make of the fact that his final words had been to his advisors, and not to him. Not the words that should’ve mattered. Tears began to well up in his chest but he held them, he needed to be Arrenir the Lord. Like his father, he would put aside his desires for the role he needed to play. As his first act as Lord Silversun, Arrenir buried his tears under the weight of duty. “Advisors.” He called to the dozen that stood solemnly around his father.

“Yes, Lord Silversun?” a younger Ferren replied, before being mimicked by the others.

“Hello Father.” His daughter sat by his bedside, her presence peeling away the memories of old. He didn’t remember being helped into his room, but it was dark; painted with soft green glows of tainted mushrooms outside.

“Zharia.” He muttered with voice that was barely a whisper. It wasn’t long now. A week more at most. “Have you come, to forbid me to die?”

His daughter shook her head. “No. I’m simple here to be present for it.” Pulling back her rose gold hair that somehow retained their color in the greys and blues of the ailing manor, Zharia leaned closer to Arrenir. “As much as I hate breaking the vow to never speak to you again. I didn’t want you to be alone at the end, so here I am.”

“You’re a good person.” Arrenir smiled. “Your mother would’ve been proud.”

Zharia frowned. She did not particularly care about the woman who was emotionally absent for the majority of her childhood. “What about you? Are you proud?”

“Very.” The wasting Lord felt a pang of guilt, the first thing he felt apart from the excruciating pain he was subjecting himself to. “I wish I was a better father.”

“Nonsense. You said it yourself a century ago. You gave me a picture perfect childhood.”

“But that’s not what you wanted. You didn’t want a fairytale, ripped from a book. You wanted something real.”

“I wanted my father to be real.” The girl wiped a stray tear from her face. “Unlike your wife, I wanted you to be more than a character from a book. I wanted you to be you and not the man mother wanted you to be.”

Arrenir attempted to lean closer to his daughter. “Do you know why I chose to do that?”

“Because you loved her.” She replied.

“I’ve been a doppelganger all my life. Long before you were born. Long before I married Elissia.” Arrenir gestured for water and Zharia retrieved a glass from the side table. The man drank, enjoying the momentary respite of his fast. “I’ve never told anyone this. But my parents died when I was a boy and the legacy of the Silversuns fell upon my shoulders. There was no… Space for me. No time to chase petty desires. No room for emotions. If I wanted to keep the Daymeadows from being swallowed up by our neighbors, I needed to be perfect.”

“Were you? Perfect?”

Arrenir nodded. “To the letter. I buried myself in books and they taught me everything. How to behave. How to deal with political disputes. I absorbed these millennia old ideas, these… ideas of men who were much wiser than I. It worked.” He gestured out into the blighted wasteland outside his window, remembering once again that it had all been for nothing. “I did the same when it came to courting your mother. I did the same when raising you. I read, and I replicated because while I didn’t have the answers. Someone else would.”

#3 of The End