Arcaea/Dining Hall Late 08-09/Aerywyn's Wish
The steam clouded the room immediately as the water was released into the bathtub. Aerywyn absent-mindedly watched as the women went about their business, one young women laying out the towels, another pretty thing fetching more of the jugs from their place near the hearth. Amidst it all was the tall widow, commanding the throng to and fro like a hardened commander with his veterans. The lady Yrisa was a handsome woman despite her age, already into her fourties and yet had not faded as many other women may have. He noted the smell of summer flowers on her as she passed him once and twice, and wondered how that smooth, milk white skin would feel agaisnt his chest whilst that bonny brown hair tumbled free from its bun about her body, framing those eyes, dark as midnight...
She caught his stare for a moment, narrrowing her eyes at him. Ysira's lips then curled into an exotic smile as she whispered something to girls around her. They quickly looked him over, expressions ranging from humoured to appreciative. Aerywyn sighed in exhaustion, and began unlacing his tunic. After a short spell of giggling Ysira ushered the women out of the lord's quarters, giving a final flirting glance back at him before leaving too.
He threw the tunic on top of his greatcoat, and a pair of breeches soon followed. Humming softly to himself, Aerywyn broke through the surface as he slid himself into the bath. The dirt from the long journey floated free from his legs and arms, and he practically melted in the pure exctasy that his weary body was experiencing. Without hurrying he removed the silver chain from around his neck, watching the tiny sanctum and the little silver ship silently clang agaisnt each other. After setting them down, he reached for his ears and removed the two small silver hoops, before allowing himself to sink lower into the bath.
By the time he was drifiting on the edge of sleep (which was not long), Aerywyn heard the sound of a door opening and closing. Then being locked. He wondered if he still had enough energy from the long ride.
"You must be awfully tired...", came a woman's voice.
Aerywyn Haerthorne Banker of Arcaea
It was cold when he woke. So very cold...
There was no longer the steaming bath, nor the warmth and sweetness of the woman in his dream. He knew that at least, but everything else passed at the edge of his conscious mind. There was mud staining his coat and chainmail, the recent rains having made the roads treacherous indeed... Thats right... I was... travelling? Gods...
Aerywyn shook his head, but even that caused his vision to spin violently. He bit down the rising bile, and thought he could taste blood. Red and gray spots appeared in front of his eyes. After sitting still for a few minutes he attempted to get up, but vertigo immediately assailed him, sending him crashing to the ground again. With confusion this time mingled with the pain, he felt cold, white snow beneath his head. The rolling hills, the grasslands were gone now, and above him he could see the tops of trees, covered with the same kind of blanket that smothered the earth.
Fear began his vile assault, like an old foe fighting with such renewed vigour as Aerywyn had never felt before. A wolf howled in the distance. He began shivering violently as he was sure he felt hot, foul breath on the back of his neck. Shade-like at first, the materialised from the gathering mist, and all else dissapeared. The hot fear, the sounds in the night; all were gone, and the emptiness drove the spike of fear piercing deep into his soul.
"Tirilyn... Tirilyn!", Aerywyn cried out between rasping breaths.
His brother gave him a sad smile, undisturbed by his own state so much as Aerywyn's so it seemed. Here was the younger brother, feeling the fear and horror of losing his twin again, and again, and again.
Then he was gone. Aerywyn was left alone again, like all those times as a child wandering lost across the fields and forests in his dreams. His throat was painfully dry, and he felt the hot tears streaming down his face. He raised his arm to get a better look at, and cringed at the sight where the long gash was now encrusted with mud and blood. No doubt the infection had weakened his mind, and Aerywyn cursed it.
But there was no time to idle on his thoughts now. It would only get worse if he did not head out soon, and his men were no doubt looking for him. Throwing up his hood to hide his reddened eyes, Aerywyn limped away, searching for his horse and his men.
Aerywyn Haerthorne Banker of Arcaea
"... M'lord?".
Belfas, Aerywyn's scribe, called over from the side of the window. Aerywyn noted that he seemed to be a bit agitated, if not a little scared, even hesitating in his speech, which was something he rarely ever did so steady was the man.
"What is it?", Aerywyn asked with not a little concern.
"I think you should amend that letter... look at this".
A telescope (one of Aerywyn's prized possessions) was offered to him, and Belfas turned it down to what he wanted him to see. Although he raised an eyebrow questioningly, Aerywyn took the telescope and adjusted it so he could better see what he was looking at.
He withdraw again, shock and terror in his normally calm blue eyes at what he had seen of the threatening gestures a certain lady had been offering through another window. He smiled helplessly at Belfas.
"Add a post script to those letters...". He gulped to compose himself. "The wedding between Sir Jenred AND the... wondrous, mystical beauty of the Duchess Edara Kindon. If this union were to be disturbed in any way, I and all of us would be most distraught to see a single tear grace her angelic composure".
Aerywyn Haerthorne
Banker of Arcaea
Laying the quill aside, he let the sunlight play across the still wet words on the page. Wearily Aerywyn admired the work his addled mind had produced, though it seemed strange to himself even as it was written... yet the words had come so easily. He sighed in exhaustion, wondering where he got the energy to waste his time on something like that when all his mind wished to do was sleep. One more time however he looked at the words, filling him with both sadness and joy. A most intriguing melancholy.
"The heart...", he whispered to himself softly. It was a puzzle to him.
The title!
Instinctively Aerywyn took up the quill again to hastly scratch a few more words at the top of the page. Underlining it, he dropped the quill and left the parcment upon the desk and sat back in the chair. It was not long at all before he dozed, and the faint whistle of breath could be heard passing between his lips.
Poem for a poet; a homecoming
Home is where the heart shall reign But the mind is but a guest, For the sinner begs to sin again; For what he knows is best.
Happiness is a childs lie, Yet a child’s mind is aiming high. The waning moon doth seem so bright, For the sinners hands are wings tonight, And though I cannot see from my eyes, The sinners joy is coming nigh. Remember, a dear child, her heart, her light, That brave doth leave into the fight.
But a childs arms are growing weary, And the sinners lies are plain to see. I lay me down now, for I see so clearly, To home she holds me, and in my heart I am free.
Aerywyn Haerthorne
Imperial Chancellor of Arcaea
A little bird watched the little men from his perch atop the roof tiles of the blacksmith. From there he watched curiously as the little men below fought and traded blow for blow in a strange dance. Steel flashed in the sunlight and heavy wooden blades came crashing down and across, deflecting off shields and occasionally striking through to unprotected sides and limbs, causing the victim to wince in pain and step back to defend himself.
It was a strange dance, thought the little sparrow, but his mother didn’t seem to be in trouble. He busied himself then with scanning the sky for the signs of a falcon. He jumped in fright and flew to a perch amongst the rafters when a shadow darted across the sky.
Meanwhile on the ground, Aerywyn leapt amongst the training field with deft skill and agility. He had been training for the better part of the day under the personal tutelage of the master-at-arms, and though it was now late in the afternoon he was still at it. Two men stood opposite him, wooden swords held cautiously in both hands as they tried to encircle him, although Aerywyn grinned as they gave him brief respite through their fear.
His dark hair was almost black with sweat, hanging lank across his face and over his shoulders. Those fierce blue eyes were undimmed by the exhertion however. It chilled the men opposite each other, for they had rarely seen this side of the Chancellor. He took his fighting seriously, and as much as they learnt from the beginning he didn’t give any quarter and expected none, even when simply training. Bruises covering the skin underneath the clothes and sparring jerkins played silent witness to this.
He was cunning too, they noticed woefully. He was fought like a wild animal.
The master-at-arms noticed too, though he merely grinned at the men when they looked at him with self-concern evident.
This time Aerywyn made the first move, breaking the pause. He lunged for the smaller of the two men, striking hard and fast as the soldier was desperately parrying against the frenzy. The larger, seeing his friend in danger, came quickly to his aid. He grinned as the advantage seemed to be his, for the Chancellor was trying to take out one before focusing on the other.
Of course he would go for the smaller one with that tactic, for he would seem to be the weaker… he’s still a fool after all. Brathn can hold against anyone.
The tall soldier strode forward and struck across to clobber Aerywyn’s helmet and win a decisive victory point for the two. Yet the smaller was too slow to realise what was happening, for Aerywyn’s blows had suddenly slowed in their intensity. Before either of them knew what was happening, the Chancellor had broken from his frenzied assault and had stepped under and into the taller man’s guard. The shock struck him almost as hard as the blow.
With the blade reversed in his hands, Aerywyn slammed the pommel into his jaw. He fell clutching his mouth in agony and, too dizzy to stand, hit the dirt like a stone slab. Brathn could barely react before there was the rough feel of wood touching his throat. The young chancellor stood there with a childish grin on his face, masking the cunning mind that lay beneath.
“I win”, Aerywyn said happily.
Aerywyn Haerthorne Imperial Chancellor of Arcaea
Darkness blanketed the street, and the moonless night made the lights from the building stand out like bastions of glorious warmth. A hooded figure squinted in the dim light to read the sign, then stepped under the awnings. There was rain dripping down his hair and neck, cascading and caressing his skin with cooling pleasure. It was a hot autumn’s night caused by the winds coming up from the southern ocean currents, though it they were rare so close to the onset of winter.
The heavy wooden door had a slit, which was drawn across after a gentle knock on the door. Suddenly a pair of eyes appeared from behind it, looking first around the area, then at the man in front of them. They sized him up for a while, and Aerywyn did, so much as he could, the same. One was blue-grey, the other tinted with green; they were filled with aggression and suspicion. Customary of a ‘doorman’.
“Pity a poor traveller”, Aerywyn spoke with a grin.
A grunt that sounded almost like it was humoured, and the the sound of hands pulling aside a lock could be heard. The bull-necked man took his cloak and disdainfully put it upon a hook, flicking his hands of the water once he was done. He finally spoke, looking over his shoulder at Aerywyn as he was just about to open the door up ahead which, presumably, lead from the foyer to the main parlour.
“This’s a gen’leman’s establishment, Sir… remember that”, he warned sternly.
Turning his attention to the door, the doorman took a moment to slick his thinning blonde hair back, which from the smell of things appeared to have had a lot of time and money devoted to it. He even took the time to brush his eyebrows with a heavy finger. Aerywyn noticed this with mixed humour and annoyance. Finally those giant paws reached for the finely worked brass handle, and Aerywyn almost laughed aloud at the thought of such beauty being forced to the hand of such a beastly creature every day.
Yet there was little to prepare him for the change. Next thing Aerywyn was drawn into the scene before him. The first thing he noticed was the music, which before had been muffled by the closed shutters and had just been heard beneath the door. It filled him with heady sensations of lust and beauty, accentuated not a little by the sights and aroma of the damsels, lovers and seducers. Even the pock marked face of the man beside him lit up, and received the odd look or blown kiss in return. However…
“The Lady of the House shall be around soon”, the doorman said in response to Aerywyn’s unspoken question. Obviously he was quite used to his job. “Don’t worry, she shall find you”.
A wink followed the last comment, and with that the man was gone. Aerywyn scarcely had an idea where, but he wasn’t here to ponder the mysterious habits of an unknown doorman.
Aerywyn Haerthorne Imperial Chancellor of Arcaea
“How many years has it been…”, Aerywyn muttered to himself.
Untied as it was, the wind this far up in the mountains whipped his long, dark hair about his face and shoulders. The barren earth did little to hold down the dirt or provide a buffer against the winds so the lone figure had to endure the sting, though it was lessened by the damp cloth wrapped around his neck and face. He grimaced as he recalled what the change to winter was like, with the hard rock made slippery by ice and the scouring dirt made worse by the cold. Last he had come here had been for the purpose of war; men and women weigh down by mail and steel, slipping on precarious passes and disappearing down the more treacherous paths.
Few had pleasant memories of Sasat. Yet there were riches here, pleasing both economically and aesthetically, for here were the rich gem and silver mines of the north, here the source of the river Remtonas.
Ironically it had not been Aerywyn, but his sister who had found the place. It was her hiding place, so far from the city estates… yet that was their way. He smiled as he thought of how far they loved to travel, from the woods of Saex to these then forbidden vales. Valaki’a was steady as the path turned past a rocky outcrop and down a hidden cave. The horse seemed unsure as it passed under the rocks and Aerywyn dismounted to lead him by hand, but the darkness did not last long and they were soon at the top of a small valley…
Valley was too kind a word for it.
There was a small stream which for thousands of years had slowly eaten away through the mountain, till it had formed it’s own little hiding place to play it‘s soothing music in. Here by the stream there was grass, and trees even. Aerywyn tied Valaki’a to one of the larger trees by his bridle, and for a moment he had to stop his legs from releasing their excitement. The valley was still high up on ledge, for there were many levels to the steep inclines of the Sasatian mountains.
He smiled to himself. No, it would not do to die dancing.
Aerywyn sat on the edge of a ledge, sending a few loose stones tumbling further down. It was by that he noticed something else… stairs cut into the rock! Following them with his gaze, he quickly saw where they led to, and with a snarl he realised what had happened. Someone had discovered this pristine little spot, and had built a manor nearby. He did not know of any new veins of ore or gems found this far down the river…
Soon he caught sight of the manor, and though if his sister had been here she would know whom it belonged to, Aerywyn scarcely cared.
Aerywyn Haerthorne
Imperial Chancellor of Arcaea
The cold winter winds blew across the coastal plain, buffeting the lone troop of horsemen. Aerywyn pulled the scarf down from his face, loosening it so as to get a better view though the biting wind cause him to squint into the distance. Awe and curiosity lit up those blue eyes, for the skyline was so different, so much larger than what he used to. It had been so many years but the city never ceased to amaze him.
Anacan…
There were domes and spires he did not recognise, though there was the familiar sight of a great templle of the Magna Aenilia Ecclessia. But even the walls were giant compared to what he knew, enclosing a city of such magnitude in a protective shell. The rain started up again, speckling his hair and the beard upon his face… he hadn’t shaved since he came into the mountains. A sparrow nestled itself within his faded, dark green riding coat, hidden from the chill and rain by the protective warmth of the man’s chest and arm.
The horsemen came beneath the castle walls in silence, though there was a kind of reverence about them as they rode. Aerywyn’s mind was lost in the images of this place, memories turning over discoveries in the grassy plain. Great battles had been waged here. Bones bleached white lay in the open, broken by cruel maces. A rusted steel arrowhead was crushed deeper into the dirt of the road by the gray charger’s hoof. The fires of oil and catapults scarred and blackened the walls in older sections of the wall. The gates however were new, tall and bound with bronze and steel; mighty and defiant.
Aerywyn smiled sadly, remembering his first battle. He was only seventeen, and yet it was these same gates he had marched through. He remembered that they too once stood strong and proud until engines of war had broken them down… yet the sparrow stirred in his coat, apparently having woken from it’s sleep to find that to it’s annoyance it was too wet to fly. Aerywyn laughed as he scratched it’s little brown chin. Ruffling it’s feathers, the little sparrow settled down in the crook of his arm.
Riding into the city, he couldn’t shake off the thought that there was something so different about the city. As he searched for an inn to stay in, he couldn’t shake the thought that it was the lack of flames that did that.
Aerywyn Haerthorne Imperial Chancellor of Arcaea
Aenil alone knew how long it had been since he had last slept. Aerywyn climbed to the top of the rise, riding on horsebak along with his unit after they had snuck past the Cathayan army. The sun was fading fast over the western horizon behind them, and already he could see the campfires being lit beneath the twilight that stretched above the steppes and heathland before him. With a heaving, almost desperate gasp for air, he raced down the slopes towards the Arcaean camp in the distance like as if the strength of the land itself had lent him this burst of energy.
Sprinting in his armour, he could feel the consant, dull thud of the chain hauberk slapping painfully agaisnt his already strained legs. Yet even with sweat mingled with dirt running around the dark shadows under his eyes and matting his hair, still Aerywyn rode towards a certain banner in the distance. The news that the messenger had brought to him set a fire in him, an almost irrational fear… when the grey gelding began to slow beneath him, Aerywyn leapt off the horse and let someone deal with him.
Past the confused soldiers he ran, and by the time he had reached the healers tent he was flagging alarmingly. Ignoring the wild look to his wide blue eyes, Aerywyn strode into the tent, though he almost fell beside the the makeshift bed where a young woman lay asleep, abosulutely exhausted from the battle and her wounds. She was not badly hurt.
Aerywyn cried softly and quietly, weeping in joy. As he stroked her raven black hair, he realised just how much he adored her, that he had been so afraid he might lose his Cypreana...
He rested his head upon the bed with her hand held in his, and within a few moments he was fast asleep by her side.
Aerywyn Haerthorne General of Arcaea, Marshal of the Tribute Collecting Army
Bravely, the boy launched his counter-attack.
Every time that the blade would strike in from the side, it was deftly repelled by his opponent, but the boy doggedly pushed on. Again and again he struck left and right, each to no avail as his taller opponent parried, but each time he swung harder. Sweat and dirt stung his forehead and made holding onto the handle of the sword alone seem like one of the hardest struggles of his short life. Eventually however, he tired, and the man he was facing grinned. With a flick of his wrist, the boys sword was flung aside, and in another heart beat the point of a blade was at his throat.
Smiling, the man let the point fall to face the ground.
“Well fought Willam”, spoke the man cheerfully. “You almost had me... well… probably… oh come now, you did fight well!”
Willam had obviously been too blatant in expressing his feelings. He was scowling after all. He relaxed though as his half-brother’s hand came to rest about his shoulder in reassurance. The boy had his mothers honey blond hair, as neither Garreant nor Gwydda had that, and his fathers green eyes. Though he was prone to sulking, he was generally likeable and intelligent, two of the chief reasons he was being trained as a squire.
“Come on lad… you’d best be off and see to it that the mails been rubbed clean.”
With a somewhat half-hearted smile, Willam ran off to the tent. Aerywyn sighed as he watched the boy’s hair fly about his head whilst he ran. He leapt about the crowd with ease, and it reminded Aerywyn of something in the way he moved in the fight, something besides his berserk determination…
He felt a cold feeling run down his back as he watched him, before dissapearing amidst the armed men of the camp. Now that he had Cypreana, he did not know if he could ever tell her the truth, let alone let the boy know it…
Aerywyn Haerthorne Lord Protector of Arcaea, Marshal of the Tribute Collecting Army
