#maerwald

The Watcher’s face began to twitch, troubled in his dreams. His ragged breath quickened, and with a strangled cry he thrashed beneath his blanket. He had fallen asleep propped up against his stag, and the poor chuffing creature seemed unsure of whether to remain still or stand up and potentially let the Watcher collapse and knock his head against the hard stone.

Deer aside, this sight was all too familiar to me. 

The poor boy. If only Maerwald had survived and been sane enough to help guide him through these first difficult days, as he had once helped so many others as a younger, more aspirational man…

“Watcher?” the blond human hurried over from his watch post. “Ow! Del — stop it! Hey! Watcher!”

He held an agitated Del’s antler away with one hand while the other jostled the dwarf’s shoulder. It was enough to make his eyes fly open with a harsh gasp. 

“Gods!” the Watcher squawked. “Edér, what—?!”

“Oh good, you’re awake,” the other man huffed, letting go and stepping back from the two of them. “Almost thought I’d need to fetch a bucket of cold water. Trust me, you wouldn’t’ve liked that.”

Even as Del put his body between the two men, Edér peeked around to frown at the trembling and sweating state of the dwarf.

“…you alright?” he asked gruffly. 

“I’m fine,” the Watcher grumbled. He grasped hold of Del’s antler, letting the stag lift him to his feet. 

“You sure about that?”

The Watcher staggered past him, Del following close behind. 

“I’m alright. I just need air.”

But he was not alright. 

He clearly had been sleepless and troubled for the past few days. From what I knew of Maerwald’s experience, I could not blame him. He was early in his Awakening, but it was already taking its toll on him physically and mentally.

He and Del left their companions behind in that old house. After wandering the grounds for a bit, they found their way back to the darkened throne room. 

“Watcher,” I greeted him as the two made their way towards me. I ignited the rest of the braziers to light their path, and this time neither of them flinched. “Is there something I can do to make you more comfortable?”

“No, no,” the Watcher waved me away. “You have already done so much for us. I am grateful, truly.”

“I presume there is a reason why you have sought me out at this hour,” I said. “I do not mind it, as I do not sleep. But if something troubles you, then I am here to assuage it.”

“Thank you,” the Watcher replied. 

He didn’t ascend the dais. Instead he simply paced before me, hands behind his back. 

I waited for him to speak. 

If there was anything the years had taught me, it was patience. 

“I suppose I’m still…” the Watcher hesitated. “It’s strange. It’s almost like you were waiting for me to come here, end your friend's suffering, and take over.”

He had phrased it delicately, but still the mention of Maerwald unleashed yet another mournful throb. 

“Waiting? I suppose so,” I replied. “There was little I could do except continue to exist here until the next ‘visitors’ came by. You are not the first to enter these halls. You are not even the first to come here looking for the help of a Watcher, rather than treasure and fame.”

“And I imagine that you don’t always offer a lordship to every visitor?”

“That was not an option for me whilst Maerwald still lived,” I answered seriously. 

“Ah, I see. So I wasn’t so special after all,” was his half-hearted jest. 

“I beg to differ,” I shot back. “Though… I admit that I did feel especially fascinated and endeared to you from the start.”

He gave a surprised chuckle.

“…truly?”

“You are a Watcher, for one thing. Then, you faced my… Maerwald… and gave him peace,” I reminded him. “Something I could not do myself.”

The Watcher’s face fell and he looked away from me. 

“I am no executioner,” he said gravely. “I try to avoid killing if I can. Please, know that I did not take any satisfaction in your friend’s death.”

“I know,” I assured him. “That may be another reason why I like you.”

He managed a rueful smile at that. 

“This castle,” he asked after a moment. “Was it yours?”

“Not as a land is its lord’s. More… as a child is its mother’s,” I tell him. “This castle was my design, you see. The erl appointed me to do it. I was… getting on in years. I knew it would be my only chance to build something magnificent…”

I told him about the erl. Like with Maerwald, it was easy to speak to someone so keen to listen.

“...after that the keep remained abandoned. Unused. Wasted. Maerwald’s mastery of this place was the first hope I’d had in over a hundred years. How I longed to see it as it once was…” 

I sighed wistfully. The Watcher’s hair fluttered in the wind it created. 

“I can only guess why this all has happened. I fear I’ve wronged the gods, putting this place here, and they’ve doomed me to watch it wear away into dust and see others fall to this curse. To witness my own folly for thinking I could defy Berath’s will.”

“The gods can be cruel like that,” the Watcher cleared his throat. “On that note, perhaps you could humor me — what did you mean by this place being cursed?”

If my intention was to convince the Watcher to take on the responsibility of the keep, I knew this would likely negate my efforts. 

“The one who dwells below, this… ‘Master,’ does not tolerate rivals, it seems. I have seen, from time to time, intrepid explorers descend to lay claim to what answers they can, but none return. This is the force which has kept Caed Nua a barren ruin… and robbed me of my hopes.”

The Watcher eyed the door to the dungeons. 

“So you do realize that by appointing me ‘lord’ of this keep, you are dooming me to their fate?” he scoffed. “How am I to feel safe and in control of a place as large as this if the dangers are coming from within?”

I remembered what Maerwald said decades ago — 

A breath held, a blade raised.

It would be a disservice to claim otherwise. 

“You likely saw it for yourself when you were down in the dungeons looking for Maerwald,” I reminded him. “I was able to create a barrier to prevent whatever creatures stalk the Endless Paths from coming up. So long as I exist, I can protect you. And if I heard correctly, your Rauataian companion wishes to explore the paths and find his ancient tablet, does he not? We all have our hopes for this place.”

There was a pregnant pause. 

“Your ‘hopes,’” the Watcher repeated. “Tell me more about them. Please.”

It had been decades since I had spoken this long to another kith. But like an echo of my first night with Maerwald, the words flowed out of me like a flood. I described the buildings I wished to see repaired, the fortifications I’d want to see manned, the grand rooms that could host delegations of all kinds. I spoke of fertile farms and gardens. I spoke of generations living happily and safely together. I even weighed the merits of different colors of tiles for the rooftops. Through it all, the Watcher listened intently, occasionally weighing in. I suspected that he must have been a craftsman of some kind, to have such insight.

“Of course, those were my dreams from a bygone era. I like to think they were Maerwald’s as well. But if you were to become lord of this keep, you would not be obligated to follow those same plans. You could shape it to reflect your values,” I assured. “So, Watcher… what would you build here, if given the power?”

“What an interesting question,” the Watcher hummed. 

He now sat on the steps before me, with Del bedded at his feet. It reminded me achingly of Maerwald. Just as it was then, the floor was hardly a fitting place for someone such as him. At least he looked comfortable enough. 

“I would designate a place where traveling merchants such as I… was… could convene. And, of course, those merchants would need somewhere to stay. I noticed that there was a lack of a decent tavern between the Gilded Vale and here, so I suppose I would want to have one — something modest but warm and welcoming. Some of my best memories on the road were at such taverns, meeting strangers by the fire.”

He shook his head. 

“It was a different life. I spent most of my time counting my inventory and coins instead of my blessings.”

“What were you a merchant of?”

“I was a lapidary — so gems and precious stones,” the Watcher shrugged. 

“I’m afraid that all the jewels in this place are long gone, otherwise I could have given you a task to keep you distracted.”

The Watcher waved me away. 

“Not to worry, it was hardly a passion of mine. It was only the family business, though I never had a knack for the cutting or jewelry-craft myself. I do pride myself as a good appraiser, however. And a decent salesman.”

“Perceptive and charismatic,” I mused approvingly. And benevolent and thoughtful, I added to myself. “We could make a lord out of you yet.”

There was an awkward silence after that. I had been careless. I was never good at hiding my cards, even in life. 

“Watcher,” I began, choosing my words carefully. “I do not mean to impose this responsibility upon you. But I see that you are wandering this world, not only looking for answers but also for a home and purpose. I offer you Caed Nua as an opportunity to carve your place in this land. And I promise you my protection as its steward for as long as the keep stands, even in its ruinous state.”

The Watcher ruminated on this. 

Over time, we all slowly but surely renovated Caed Nua’s crumbling bones closer to its former grandeur. At the same time, I mentored Maerwald on how to act and be a lord to match.

We were satisfied by our progress, and it gladdened me to see my lord carousing with the builders and those invested in his work. Exhausted by the long days of work and management, he seemed to at last be distracted from the ghosts that haunted him. 

But every night after the other kith had gone to sleep or returned to their duties, he would join me. Sitting on the throne, he spoke to me softly as my erl so often would… and yet so differently. 

To the erl I was his friend, his sister, his advisor. 

To Maerwald, I was all those things. But at times during his more tumultuous moments, I felt more like his mother.

Other times, I wondered if he thought of me as a lover. It was an amusing thought, though it made me pity him for not having the company of a warm body to bring him comfort during his days. 

I asked him about it once, when we were alone in that throne room together. 

“You certainly enjoyed hosting that Vailian animancer here,” I remarked to him as casually as I could — which is to say, not very well. “What was her name again? Caldara…”

“…de Berranzi,” Maerwald drawled. “You are not very subtle, dear Steward. But yes, she is rather brilliant, isn’t she?”

“And a splendid conversationalist. I look forward to her next visit,” I agreed. “But… if I may speak plainly…”

“Always,” Maerwald raised a brow. 

“A dwarven lover will not give you an heir,” I said bluntly. 

Maerwald guffawed, “A lover?”

“I may be immobile but I’m not blind,” I retort. “I see how both of your gazes linger.”

Maerwald huffed a laugh, looking around for any witnesses. 

“Both? Well isn’t that interesting,” he mused to himself. “But what’s all this talk about heirs?”

“As a lord, you should consider taking a lady,” I pointed out. 

Maerwald chuckled in reply, his thumb rubbing circles into the marble armrest. 

“But why?” he wheedled. “The only great lady this castle needs is you.”

“Don’t be a fool. You will need someone to continue your legacy when this keep is fully restored.”

“And become the next Erl of Yenwood?”

There was a bite to his words that left us both quiet for a long moment. 

“My lord…” I began regretfully. 

“What lies beneath this place?” he asked, but did not wait for me to answer. “A breath held. A sword raised. Every kith that resides here exists in borrowed time. You have said to me yourself that the ‘master’ of these ruins has allowed only you to endure, perhaps to keep warning those who try to claim it.

“So why would you suggest that I raise a family, only to subject them to this fate?” he demanded. “And not simply the fate of this keep, but the fate of being tied to me — a man who speaks to ghosts... in the voices of ghosts; who cries out and thrashes in his sleep. A man who some days does not recognize his own face in the mirror? Who wanders these halls looking for a home long since destroyed? Another family, long since gone? A man who will fall like all the other roadwardens of this wretched keep?”

He slowly slumped forward upon the throne, his shaking head cradled in a hand.

"Because she does not understand," he growled in a voice unlike himself. His other hand formed a fist, slamming into to the marble armrest. "Because she hides in stock and stone, away from the suffering of flesh. Because she has not yet tasted the pain of grief or fear or fire...!"

From past outbursts, I knew it wasn't really him, but I couldn't help but be indignant.

Not tasted pain? Grief? 

I may not have been able to bleed or weep for over a century, but that did not mean I didn't feel that gods-forsaken loneliness in the creaking bones of my rafters, in the cold flesh of my stones, or in this adra heart that kept me bound to this blessed yet wretched life.

“No!" I insisted. "Because you are not like the other roadwardens that came before you. You are a Watcher. I have seen you soothe and command the troubled souls of these grounds where other powerful kith fell. You can see it in the improvements we’ve made all around you. Under your reign, this place has finally been tamed.”

Maerwald blinked hard. His fist relaxed as he reeled in silence. 

“Do you truly think so?” he murmured in his own voice. 

“I have been here for a long time, Maerwald,” I replied. “I have seen it all for myself. And in all my years, I couldn't be prouder of who you’ve become, and what you’ve made of our home.”

Maerwald hummed. 

“‘Our home’… You have no idea how much that means to me.”

His hands squeezed the marble armrests as he nestled his head back against me. 

“Are you imprisoned in that throne?”

The Watcher was not the first to ask this question. Nor was my late lord Maerwald, Berath guide his soul. 

Eventually every lord and lady I served came to understand that this marble throne was merely a figurehead. It gave a familiar face to whom one could speak. It was where my soul had been rooted in its adra core, even though the senses of my intangible tendrils reached far beyond these walls, across the grounds, and up every tower like the vines creeping up the stones. I could feel deep below the keep as well, though I didn’t like to let my mind linger further down than the dungeons. Something ancient dwelled deep within the Endless Paths, and the symptoms of this entity could too easily escape to the surface if left unchecked. 

But as a shield against the darkness I still found solace in the brighter, more hopeful memories of my first and second lives. 

For me, it almost felt like my life began too late. As a daughter of a stonemason, I had applied the skills of my family’s trade from a young age. I traveled as part of my apprenticeship, but never far enough away from home, and never out of Aedyr. Over decades of work I earned a respectable reputation as a master architect in my corner of the continent, especially when I led the renovation of some historical buildings damaged by the Lovers’ Tides one punishing year. 

By then I was middle-aged by elf standards. A century of work, and I was bored of Aedyr — the traditions clergy refused to abandon, and the gaudy trends nobility tended to follow. I was tired as well of my lack of recognition as the foremost modern architect due to my lowly upbringing, not to mention being a mature but unmarried woman. 

I didn’t know the future Erl of Yenwood well at the time. He was a human younger than me — a minor thayn and a product of a prosperous haemneg that afforded him the privilege of appeasing his adventurous spirit. As soon as word reached the shores of Aedyr about the first settlements in the Eastern Reach, he began to dream of his new life for himself and his wife, as well as the legacy they would create for their own. 

He learned of me after being impressed by the work I did renovating his family’s enclave. Still, when the future erl told me about his prospects in a new colony abroad and spoke to me of his ambitions, his invitation shook me. 

Two weeks later, I was standing beside him on the ship’s deck, watching the shores of Aedyr disappear on the horizon. With shining eyes, he spent the entire voyage speaking of the possibilities the Eastern Reach held for us.

This new land promised a fresh start where I could make my mark as one of the first Aedyran architects to become established in the Eastern Reach. After a century of designing and building the banal, this would be my one chance to build something magnificent and unrivaled.

Coming to this continent was not without its dangers — both on the sea and on shore. If not pirates and storms, it was bandits or Glanfathan elves. I was grateful for the protection and friendship the newly-named Erl of Yenwood and his retinue provided me. 

When he took me to the land he had claimed for his keep, I was in utter awe. It was a handsome stretch of meadow beside a river, surrounded by lush woods that would make excellent and sturdy timber. I had already noted a potential quarry nearby. 

But as with many old places untouched by civilization, there were surprises. At the center of this land were several unusually-shaped outcroppings of adra — spread like fingers frozen while clawing out of the dirt. Upon looking closer, I was amazed to see how this adra had been intricately carved with the swirling patterns typical of the ancient Engwithans. I made sketches and rubbings of the patterns on large swathes of paper, already inspired to commission some mosaics, wood, or stonework that echoed these designs. 

These fingers of adra were only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Further surveying of the land revealed that this clearing must have once been a grand estate of sorts — razed almost too neatly to the ground. Erosion over time had revealed the tops of walls and chambers of ancient ruins. 

The erl told me that he claimed this land since these were the only ruins that Eir Glanfath refused to defend. It was largely unexcavated and untouched. He bid me to think of all the riches and secrets buried beneath, and his excitement was contagious. Whatever stronghold we built here could become a place of power and knowledge, and I — an aging architect — would be the one to design it.

He may have had his initial ideas, but by the end of the first night I spent sitting upon the ruins and sketching, I had more. 

Over the next two years I designed and built the castle, its amenities, and the fortifications around it. I hired the best builders I could find in the colony, coaxing them into the erldom with promises of generous payment and the inevitability of ancient treasures.

The erl proved to be an enthusiastic but fickle client. He would stroll the grounds deep in thought, make a face at an improvement, and tell me to tear it down and replace it with something better. Despite this, I made sure that what came out of our endeavor was something aesthetically unified and worthy of the first footprint of Aedyr in this unfamiliar land. 

The inspiration came in droves as we became acquainted with the surrounding area. The architecture was primarily in the Aedyran style, but by borrowing motifs and building knowledge from the friendlier local Glanfathans, it evolved into something I boasted as uniquely Dyrwoodan. 

Inspiration came from within our walls as well. As we dug out the foundations of the keep, we excavated more and more of the Engwithan ruins beneath the earth. We found artifacts and entire rooms that at times seemed purposefully filled by rock and soil. To our delight, every time we thought we had excavated a level we found signs of another beneath it. While the erl led those efforts uncovering and mapping the old and unknown, I kept myself occupied with the construction of his new home.

By the time the main keep, bailey, and walls were done, I had no desire to go back to my lonely home back in Aedyr. With my contract fulfilled, I thought I would have to beg the erl to let me stay and take care of the keep. He granted it with open arms. He had become a brother to me, and I, his sister. His family had become as good as mine. I had none of my own after all, and at my age never would. 

The stronghold of Caed Nua was my child, and everyone knew it. I was the sole kith who truly knew the blueprints of the keep like my own name, and even when its construction ceased I managed its maintenance as it weathered the years.