The finely polished blade flashed in a wide arc as the opponent closed in. Issuing a violent taunt to Celerim. The Justiciar side-stepped and with a flick of his wrist disarmed his opponent.

Once more the thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd. Even the disarmed opponent had a wide grin on his face as he extended his arms in a congratulatory sign. It was undoubtedly clear that Celerim was the golden child of the gathered crowd.

In a loud scream, knocking the air off my lungs, I shouted to Celerim. A sudden dark cloud settled on the young Justiciar’s face upon noticing my presence. Trepidation held his actions in thrall till the figure of an elegant high-elven woman strode out of the crowd towards Celerim. The Justiciar nodded with uncertainty and doubt to the words that the elven-woman uttered and with reluctant steps dragged himself towards me.

“Lady Rylonvirah, please meet my mother Archoness Lady Stormaire,” and with the same monotone turned to the elven woman and utter in disinterested jaded voice, “Mother, Lady Rylonvirah. She assisted me in Sarenthill.”

Lady Stormaire’s pale grey eyes widened and a pleasant smile graced her round cherry lips. At least now it is clear where Celerim got his looks from. Her long golden hair braided held by gem-studded barrette gave a radiant aura to the already stately elf. With an ivory white robe emblazoned with golden embroidered over the beige dress, she stood apart like a lone rose among thorny brambles.

“Ah,” an expression of surprise marked her amicable face as realisation dawned on her, “the famed Matron Rylonvirah....”

“Please, just Rylonvirah now,” I failed to keep my enmity caused by rivalry in control. An evidently discernible discontent echoed through my words. Lady Stormaire, befitting her station, was quick with her keen sense of perception.

“Please walk with me, Lady Rylonvirah,” requested Lady Stormaire with a caustic tone. A request with more hidden meaning.

“Aunt Rillie,“ interrupted Savvas as he mysteriously appeared from my shadows.

With irritation apparent in my voice, I forced myself to perform the civil introductions.

“Lady Stormaire, please allow me to introduce my nephew, Savvas the younger and Savvas, Lady Stormaire and Celerim Stormaire.”

“Lady Stormaire, allow me to state this. Ships would raise their sails at your radiant presence,” The cheeky attitude of Savvas the younger shone through.

“Please, ignore him,” answered both, Celerim and me with coincidentally coordinated irritation.

“Please tell me, Lady Rylonvirah,” said Lady Stormaire with an amused tone, “are all lads in your family trained in wordplay?”

“He is an exception. Please excuse him,” I answered mechanically.

“Actually, I find it a unique talent. Not many could weave flattery so elegantly,” scoffed Lady Stormaire with an amused laugh.

“Lord Stormaire,” a wicked grin of a predator cornering its prey appeared on Savvas, “I observed for a while from my skybox. That upward swing that you favoured, I take it that you are trained with a long sword or a two-handed sword perhaps?”

“Justiciar Stormaire,” corrected Celerim, “and yes, a keen observation. In my first lesson, she was proficient with heavy two-handed weapons.”

I winced at his reference to Lyria.

“I myself, prefer a rapier. Slender, pointed, versatile, bendable but unbreakable. Deadly when one knows how,” continued Savvas.

“I prefer to stick to my trusty sword,” replied Celerim emotionlessly, “good for defence and offence.”

“So that is how you play, Lord Stormaire,” uttered Savvas playfully, “oh, sorry, I mean Justiciar Stormaire.”

Celerim took a deep breath and balled his fist.

“Celerim, let Lady Rylonvirah and me some privacy, please,” commanded the Archon Lady.

Once Lady Stormaire was assured that sufficient distance ensured our privacy, her tone changed to one befitting her status.

“I could not help but be candid here, Lady Rylonvirah. There seemed to be some reservations to my presence,” Her heeled shoes tapped on the dry ground as she walked without breaking stride.

The pang of self-loathing assaulted me internally, threatening to raze my self-esteem. I bit my lower lips and considered the stately elven-women who bore a genuine open smile.

“How is she?” I finally asked hiding my regret.

“who?” came the response.

“Your wife,” Should she taunt me with every move? She has already won.

A laugh like pearls spilling issued from the well-contoured lips.

Should she mock me even further? You have a wife, a son and a place where you belong. Does it please you to kick me when I am already writhing on the ground?

“Is there something special about my Celerim that implied that he was raised by two women?” asked Lady Stormaire with undisguised amusement.

Tears welled in my eyes accompanied by a heavy feeling that assaulted me from within. Reaching up to my throat, hardening and choking with cruel unseen hands.

“I am sorry. It is not my place. I will take my leave now,” I excused myself quickly with a feeble voice and turned to exit her mocking presence.

More laughter spilt like the chiming of wind bells under a heavy breeze, from her.

“No. No. No, please, do not leave,” she swiftly turned and grabbed my arms in the last moment attempt to prevent me.

“There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding,” she grimaced,” I am married to my Celerim’s father and I have been truthful to our oath.”

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A cloud of disbelief surrounded me, I challenged her claim.

“Celerim’s sword, The Sentinel, it was given to him by his mother. That blade was not something that could be purchased. Made with soul for someone special and You, Lady Stormaire,” With a shrug, I freed myself from her gentle grasp, “are no blacksmith.”

Lady Stormaire’s shapely contoured eyebrows raised in surprise and a long sigh escaped her lips.

“Could I interest you in sharing a cup of spiced wine with me? I have heard about the perceptive skills of the famed Matriach, but now I see that tales of your exploits are not mere exaggerations. This is a tale that would take a while.”

*****

Seated comfortably on a well-upholstered chair, well-manicured and long dainty fingers pushed a silver goblet filled to the brim with blood-red wine in my direction. I eagerly accepted the offered drink.

“I haven’t played an active role in Celerim’s life,” she uttered with a wry smile, “at least not as much as I would have preferred to. The sea-elves kept my Lord occupied and I was called to run and settle things. The title Archon was thrust to me before I realised my position.”

“I am not a novice to juggling responsibilities and motherhood,” I scoffed at her vain attempt to share a bonding moment with me.

“It should come as no surprise that Celerim grew up among our relatives. My sister basically raised him when I could not be there for him. Even though I commissioned the longsword for Celerim, it was Dreaya who crafted it. I should have realised that she would have put all her soul into it. She cared a lot for Celerim,” explained Lady Stormaire.

She took a sip of wine from her goblet, more as a chance to compose herself than to wet her throat.

“You could say, we basically co-mothered Celerim,” declared Lady Stormaire.

A cynical squint with accusatory glare issued from me at her use of the word, ‘co-mothered’.

Again, Lady Stomaire had sharp wits as she refuted my accusation.

“Lady Rylonvirah, I am serious when I mentioned that, I am truthful to the oath to my spouse,” She set the goblet down and considered me sternly with those pale grey eyes.

“A most amazing tale, Lady Stormaire, thanks for sharing. But I do not believe a word of it,” A caustic cynicism poured over my words.

Lyria, despite her lack of willingness to talk about her childhood, was definitely not born in a high-elven society. A fact that I was certain of.

Lady stormaire clutched her hands together and with her stoic face contested my claim.

“So you are claiming that a tiefling was born in your family?” I leaned forward stiffening my muscles as I accused Lady Stormaire viciously.

“We are not by blood-related. Sworn-Sisters is what we are,” explained Lady Stormaire.

“Sworn-Sisters,” I repeated and scoffed at her words.

“Lady Rylonvirah, I have a Lord of the manor and though I do enjoy the comfort of our own herd, I never lusted after one. So please stop with connecting dots where there are none,” admonished the Archon Lady.

An immense feeling of relief washed over me and for the first time, the wine tasted sweet.

As I relaxed, the tables turned. Lady Stormaire went on the offensive.

“Something tells me that you have an invested interest in Dreaya. If I am not mistaken, you know more,” The Archon Lady leaned back, and a defiant grin flashed on her face.

“I sensed the craftmanship and you are correct in your inference. I did have some dealing with a certain tiefling blacksmith,” I tread the line between truth and lie carefully. Lyria is Dreaya. An evident fact. The uncertainty lies in what Lady Stormaire knows.

Her pale grey eyes bore into me, urging me to continue. I obliged.

“Let us say if I request to meet her. What is your stance?” I shrunk before the Archon Lady and meekly looked up to her for salvation.

“That would be difficult. Near impossible,” Lady Stormaire sported a knowing grin, “though if you chanced upon a meeting, she might find you tempting.”

Her eyes wandered over to my still filled goblet and they darted towards me in a questioning glance. I gulped the wine and let the liquid flow down my throat.

“Frankly, even if I am willing, I could not help. My sister is sort of a lone soul, “ The Archon Lady leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper, “She comes and leaves unhindered, without any shackles. If you ask me, she is running from something.”

My ears perked. I leaned closer till our breaths mingled.

“Tiefling persecution,” I sneered.

Lady Stormaire’s eyes rolled sideways and her lips held dismissal.

“This seemed more personal, as if, she was targeted. She never spoke much about her past, “ The high-elven woman’s eyes curiously scanned the surrounding before she continued further, “She has impeccable skills in her trade, the kind that you should have honed from childhood but she knew high-society etiquette, I presume, she was probably married to some minor noble or in one of those house-hold and was abused. She is on the run from her former partner.”

A loud chorus of shouts erupted at the entrance to the tourney grounds. In response, Lady Stormaire twisted her neck to infer the source of the commotion. Had her attention not been otherwise occupied, She would have noticed the searing anger that clouded my face.

“Impossible,” I said calming my stammering voice, “Years of toiling at a smelting forge left her with thews like steel and as thick as gnarled old root. No one would dare to abuse her.”

“I don’t mean the physical sort,“ she drew a sharp breath and tapped her forehead with her palms, “I forget, it might be an alien concept to someone like you.”

“Someone like me? a drow?” I questioned.

“No, one who likes women, “ her voice dropped even further, “Physical is just one form of it. There are other forms, social isolation, depriving of decision making, manipulation of free will and more. One does not need physical violence to undermine the autonomy of a person to make choices for their own.”

Her every word drove a smouldering hot iron stake through my heart. However I wanted to ignore her words, deep down, unconsciously, I knew that there was an element of truth to her words.

I assigned house guards to Lyria, to watch her and protect her.

I monitored who she associated with, to prevent her from becoming a mindless unwilling pawn in the dark-elf house games.

I convinced her to stay in my Lands, beneath the surface, that is where I was needed, where I could protect her.

Instead of protecting, have I caged her?

In my zeal to protect her, have I gone too far?

Did I unwittingly hurt her?

The loud chorus erupted and assaulted me like a tidal wave, breaking me out of my reverie.

“This year's tourney would be unforgettable. A lot of strong contenders,“ said Lady Stomaire, “I wonder what attracted them.”

I lifted my empty goblet to my lips, feigning to empty the non-existing content.

“For once, Celerim surprised me by saying he wanted to honour the festivities. My son considered himself a Justiciar first and a Stormaire, second. You could not imagine, how astonished I was when he came back from Sarenthill and declared that he would accompany me to Asterlund.”

“Well, children grew up. Every life experience tempers them,“ I gave a wry smile.

“I, for once, glad that he has grown enough to set time aside for family, but that is beside the point. Lord Korvanor’s heir met with some unfortunate accident but still, his champion would be taking part in the tourney.”

Panic accosted me from within. Merrick is here. I need to disappear but not before collecting Syrune. Therrin needs to be warned. But the most important of all, Celerim should be informed. Accidents happen in tourneys. Merrick could slay Celerim publically, in front of his mother and pass it off as a poor unfortunate accident.

At the distance, Savvas the younger leaned closer to Celerim and uttered something with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Celerim, in response, had a devilish smirk on his face. You stupid child, your death is closing in on you and yet you could beam that oblivious angelic smile.

“And then there is the grand paladin Lord Mirnovian Zelaphiel Ellandor from the Order of Latent Divinity. I am certain all that commotion outside is from his arrival.”

She turned toward me and upon looking at my pale countenance, she could only mutter in awe, “I never knew that dark-elves could get pale. Do you want me to call a healer?”