#adaryc

The well-oiled door didn’t make a creak as it opened. Carefully it was closed again, and quiet steps echoed in the large, empty halls as they made their way further inside, walking past empty seats and artfully crafted statues, bathed in colourful light from the stain glass windows. They came to a halt before a tiered, polished marble alter, lovingly decorated with candles in all shapes and sizes.

Adaryc Cendamyr, commander of the Iron Flail, stood in the lavish temple of Readceras’ capital, alone. From outside came the noise of celebration, people singing and rejoicing at the glorious return of their god. Adaryc himself wasn’t quite ready to celebrate yet, a painful emptiness and confusion tugging on his soul as he sought comfort from the familiar atmosphere of the temple.

News had come fairly quickly, of the adra giant that had broken out from under the earth and was making his way towards the Deadfire. The priests had assured them of His identity, and from there the story had spread like a wildfire. Including its point of origin. Adaryc had found it hard to believe, but so many independent reports had come in from various traders and travellers that he hardly had a choice.

Carefully he pulled out a candle from his bag and gently put it among the others on the altar. It was a simple one, made from normal beeswax. He hadn’t had the time to make anything more elaborate, but he’d wanted to make something at least, before leaving for Deadfire the next morning. She deserved it.

He lit the candle and watched as the flame burned steadily, while he mentally paid his respects to the one, he’d made it for. Outside the people were chanting her name as a martyr, the priestess who’d paved the way for Eothas’ return. But they only knew what Adaryc and his men had told them, they knew of her as a story, not as a real woman, who would’ve never wanted innocents to die.

Adaryc sighed, the sound echoing in the large, empty hall.

That wasn’t entirely fair. After he’d returned from the White March and made his report, a few people had left to see if he was right. They too returned with tales of the lady of Caed Nua, the sole remaining Eothas priestess in all the Dyrwood, keeper of the save haven for all Eothasians and, as they whispered under their breaths, a watcher. Though she herself had certainly never made a secret out of it, in Readceras it was considered a bad omen to see the souls of the dead. After all, surely there must’ve been a reason for Gaun not to have come for them.

Adaryc wasn’t quite so sure about that anymore. He was still struggling with his fate, after all, it wasn’t exactly pleasant to suddenly lose his hold on reality and then have a traumatised soul jump into his face, but he was starting to see her point. These souls hadn’t wanted their fate any more than he his. He could use his ability to help them move on and lead them back to the wheel, granting them the same chance for a new life every soul was owed. And occasionally he could even help the living. The thankful face of a young woman, to who he’d returned her mother’s locket in a ditch attempt to make her ghost stop haunting him, flashed through his mind. And who could say this ability of his wasn’t Eothas’ way of asking for help? It’s not like He could’ve done so verbally in the last years…

Now... now He’d apparently come back and levelled Caed Nua in the process, killing everyone in it, including its ruler. Adaryc didn’t know what to think about that. He didn’t doubt that the Watcher would’ve laid down her life willingly to help their god, but for everyone else to die as well? Adaryc wanted to think there could have been another way, yet at the same time dreaded the possibility.

Quietly he knelt down, the sturdy fabric of his trousers keeping the cold of the stone floor away, with his eyes still remaining fixed on the candle and the soft light it shone on everything around it, bright and unapologetic, even next to some much larger ones. A fitting image really.

When he’d first met her, in the Iron Flail fortress, it had been in the middle of the night and she’d entered the room so casually, at first he hadn’t even realized she was an intruder. He’d just thought her one of his men, come to make a report, so when he’d finally turned around, he’d almost had a heart attack. Though to be fair, it had been a hard, few days for him.

After the rather heated conversation they’d had, he’d almost felt like a young boy again, put over his father’s knee for some stupid prank. And yet he’d also felt... validated somehow. Like he might’ve made a mistake in his reaction against the villagers, but if he just corrected it, he’d be on the right path again and all would be forgiven.

Then the two eyeless had shown up and everything had gone to shit. There’d been casualties, many injured and three dead. She’d insisted on staying the night to help them patch up everything. The rest of her group had helped with the damage to the camp, while she’d treated the wounded, rushing from one bed to the next without rest. She’d even personally apologized to the man she’d knocked out, while sneaking in.

The next morning she’d held mass for them and the funeral rites for their dead. A rare solace for his troop, as they didn’t have a priest traveling with them. Adaryc had always done his best, but he knew he was hardly a good substitute. When she’d left afterwards, his sword in tow, the men had continued talking about her, and he’d let them. It wasn’t like he hadn’t mulled over her.

The noises from outside were growing quieter. Adaryc would have to leave soon to get some rest if he wanted to set off at dawn tomorrow. But surely a little more time couldn’t hurt... The familiarity of the temple brought him a feeling of stability that he desperately needed. Much like the stability she had been once, when everything had seemed too crazy to be true.

The next time he’d seen her, she’d told them of an impending apocalypse, caused by Ondra herself. For some reason no one else in the room had seemed terribly surprised, her companions least of all, which, while very confusing, had helped him to just accept the situation and move on to solving it. She’d defended him when the villagers had wanted to throw him out (understandably so, he could now admit), and he’d promised her back up, not that she’d needed it in the end.

Adaryc had spent hours on the lookout of the Iron Flail fortress himself, waiting for a signal that never came. They hadn’t been able to see the crater collapse when it had happened, but they’d heard the deafening crash, as had everyone in whole White March.

Then it had been a waiting of a different kind, waiting if she and her companions would return. Adaryc had done what he’d always done. He’d told the people to have hope and trust in Eothas, even though he himself had found it rather difficult. He’d thought Saint Waidwen would return, he’d thought his commander would return, he’d thought Eothas would return, and no one had. Until now.

And she had of course. Though if ‘return’ was the right word was a different question. It had hardly been a triumphant homecoming. Instead, the blonde soldier had carried her to the fort, unconscious, frozen, and half dead, with the rest of their group trailing behind and in not much better shape. He’d spent maybe two seconds with horrified staring, before realizing that she was not dead, but could certainly be soon without help.

A hectic night had followed, trying to warm her up and, if possible, avoid her getting pneumonia. Adaryc had, again, spent the whole night awake, watching over her together with the soldier and making sure she didn’t just stop breathing at some point. The elf had refused to go to bed as well, preferring to sit in the corner of the room, pretending to read, though he’d dozed off at some point. It had been... interesting. Nerve wracking, but interesting. Adaryc and the soldier, Edér he now knew, had had a long and at first very frosty, conversation, and had managed to get to a sort of consensus over their shared belief and the one fighting so hard for it. Apparently even unconscious she managed to get people together, willingly or not.

She had of course survived it, just like she’d survived the rest of her journey (though if he really believed the rumours about said journey, he didn’t know himself). To think that she was dead now, killed by their own god along with countless others... it was painful. But pain was hardly new to Adaryc.

With a deep breath Adaryc made the prayer sign and moved to get up. It wasn’t his place to judge his god’s decisions. Certainly, there had to be a point to his actions, and all Adaryc could do was send her off as best as he could without her body. He’d follow Eothas, do his duty, and perhaps he’d even get an answer, why all of this had to happen. The war, Saint Waidwen’s death, His disappearance, and now her death.

He turned to leave, walking by the empty rows of benches once again, thinking of the people that had once filled them and never would again, who would never see their prayers come to fruition. He opened the giant door and turned around one last time, looking back to the candle on the altar. Seeing the light of the flame, Adaryc made a silent promise to himself. When this was all over, he’d ask to be granted leave and visit the grave he was sure her people had built her.