Suraiya held her training blade in both hands, the bundle of lathes tightly wound and braced with metal bands that compressed it together into a solid imitation of a proper sword’s weight and power, with none of the cutting edge to threaten truly lethal injury. Her eyes were focused on the movements of her opponent as he circled opposite her, his lean muscles shifting him smoothly around the edge of the haphazard training ring they’d set up atop the Traveller’s Sanctuary.
It had been Eluviale’s husband, Antony, that had recommended the black-haired warrior as a sparring partner. He was a promising Iron-ranked Adventurer around her age named Carter, and wielded his own blade with the confidence of an Aspirant Tier combatant.
When he came at her again she stepped into a parry as she’d been taught, and muffled a curse when he reversed direction at the last moment and slid past her guard to tap her lightly on the bicep.
“Point.” The Knight watching the match, Dame Taryn Dusklily, said calmly. Her brown hair was tied back into a loose bun and her dark eyes watched them both unblinkingly. She wore only her leather gambeson and had her sword belted to her hip, allowing her to stand at ease in a practised state of casual readiness. “Reset.”
Suraiya rolled her arm subconsciously as Carter smiled at her and bowed his head before retreating, and nodding to the approving gazes of the small crowd watching them. Her frustration boiled within her as he retreated, but she reminded herself that it was hardly his fault he was better than her with a sword. He had likely been venturing out into the Desolation since his fifteenth year.
“Combatants Ready?” Dame Taryn asked them both.
“Ready.” Carter replied in his smooth, warm voice.
“Ready.” Suraiya replied crisply.
“Begin!”
This time Suraiya took the initiative and launched herself across the ring toward Carter’s position with as much of her agility and strength as she could manage. Either in a sign of respect or with a lack of concern — she couldn’t be certain — for the outcome, Carter met her charge with a position-perfect block. It was not unlike slamming blade-first into a brick wall for all that he couldn’t have been more than five levels above her, and Suraiya’s arms felt jarred from her wrists to her shoulders.
She didn't waste time being surprised however and stepped back into a pivot, bringing her blade around at his opposite side and forcing him to make another perfect block with the same bone-jarring immovability. Is the chasm between Tempered and Untempered truly so immense? She mentally questioned as she danced backward and repositioned herself to attempt another strike. It feels as if he is barely noticing my hits.
Suraiya’s attention moved to Carter’s feet as he shifted them subtly and then snapped back to his sea-green eyes, tightening her grip on her training blade as she registered his intent to strike. Ser Gilbert’s lessons came back to her and she remembered to watch Carter’s gaze. Track it to his likely target. It was not the time to think about how the wind played around his hair, or how nice his chest was, or how full his lips were. She clenched her jaw, banished the foolish thoughts, and waited.
His eyes flicked to her left shoulder.
She snapped her blade up in a defensive parry and danced to the right a moment before Carter surged toward her with the speed of an Aspirant Tier body. He was not a barely-there blur of motion like the Specialist Tier Knights that formed her protection, but his movements were almost too fast for her to track. He seemed to explode into violence to her senses, and it was all she could do to throw off his attack and dance away.
The next few seconds were a frenetic, dizzying combination of parries, blocks, strikes, ripostes, and clacking lathes as Carter attacked her with a furious set of blows. He was using a style of combat she’d never learned, one that seemed more to flow than follow a rigid diagram like those she’d been taught. He was fluid in a way that was beautiful, and more than a little intimidating — though she refused to show that particular sentiment openly.
Sweat beaded her forehead as her hair whipped around her and she danced between attacks. She knew he wasn’t using his full speed or force. Perhaps three fourths of it if she had to wager a guess, and that by design. She was quite skilled for an Untempered, but she was still Untempered. To attack her with full force would have been poor form at the very least, and openly seditious at the worst.
She was still the Princess, after all, despite her insistence that he ignore her title.
Suraiya repelled another wave of rapid strikes and then let out a quiet snarl of frustration as he nearly sent her blade spinning away, her eyes narrowing in focus amid the clacking rhythm of their blades meeting.
In a motion she hoped was as sudden for him as it was for her, she feinted a strike and then stepped forward into his guard, and attempted to slam her elbow into his stomach.
It was, in a word, a mistake.
Pain exploded from her arm as it impacted the solid muscle of his Tempered body and Suraiya’s hand spasmed around her blade. Carter had clearly not expected such a failure, and his latest strike was right on target for her head. She barely had time to widen her eyes before—
Crunch.
A low boom of thunder echoed throughout the area as Ser Gilbert’s armoured fist appeared from nothing in order to catch the swinging blade, his body suddenly beside hers and arcing with discharging bolts of static electricity precipitated by the speed of his lightning-attuned Stormsurge Manaforce movement skill. The tall Knight looked down at her in an analysing manner almost immediately to satisfy his curiosity as to her condition, and then turned to Carter.
“I think we are done here.” He said coolly.
The Adventurer paled and stepped back quickly from Ser Gilbert’s presence, dropping himself into a deep bow when reality caught up to him. “You have my deepest apologies, Princess! I didn’t—that is to say, I had no idea that the blade—!”
“It is…” She cleared her throat. “It is quite alright.” Suraiya cut in before he could flounder any more. He suddenly looked every bit the young man he still was. To think she had thought he was so strong and handsome only moments earlier…
“You conducted yourself admirably, Adventurer Carter.” Her arm really hurt. “The fault is mine and mine alone.” She inclined her head as she acknowledged it, and subtly tucked her arm against her gambeson. “I thank you for your time and a most educating sparring session.”
Carter’s relief was palpable when he lifted his head, and he bowed again—albeit with less desperation than before. “Th—thank you, your highness. The pleasure was mine. Until next time.”
“Until then.” She responded courteously, despite the certainty that there would be no next time. The moment Ser Gilbert had intervened, Carter’s temporary lease of permission to train with her had expired. Despite her gratitude for his intervention, a large part of her wished he had simply let her take the blow. Carrying the injury would have been worth it. It might have alleviated the sense of unspoken distance between her and the rest of the convoy.
She felt lonely.
“Are you alright?” Ser Gilbert asked after Carter had retreated to the waiting crowd of Adventurers, all of whom had let him pass wordlessly as they still seemed to be attempting to parse exactly what had happened. To the naked eye, after all; Ser Gilbert had appeared like a lightning strike. One moment he had been watching from a short distance away, conversing with his officers and some of the leaders from the Adventurers’ group — and then the next he was at her side, looking every bit the powerful and indomitable force of nature that he was.
“I am fine.” She said perhaps a little more curtly than was appropriate.
“Your arm appears hurt,” he pointed out undeterred. “A healer should look at it.”
“I…” She sighed when she realised that fighting it would be futile. “Very well.”
Ser Gilbert turned to the small gathering of watching Adventurers and gestured sharply.
From among the on-lookers came a familiar elven face, Eluviale’s tall form crossing the area with sure and confident strides that did nothing to hide the musculature evident on her limbs beneath her tight-fitting leathers.
Suraiya watched her with focused interest as she moved and observed the fluidity and grace of her measured and almost regal gait. A pang of envy flared within her as she observed the carefree way in which Eluviale embraced her Temper-assisted beauty, and the Princess couldn’t help but to glance down at her own leather top and ill-fitting leggings with a sense of insecurity.
How she wished she could be so free.
“Hello again your highness.” The Soother said warmly when she finally reached polite speaking distance, before rounding on Ser Gilbert. “And hello to you as well, Ser Gilbert. You are looking particularly off-putting and terrifying today.”
“My charge was wound—” He began stiffly.
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“Yes yes. I understand, but let me be clear.” She leered up at the tall Knight and placed her fists on her hips, only to lift her right hand and shake her forefinger under his nose. “You may be the strongest Knight in Stormharrow and its surrounds, Gilbert van Ostland, but I am a Silver-ranked Soother and a registered Healer in the royal employ.” She continued undeterred even when he opened his mouth to reply, rolling over him like the storm he himself was famous for emulating.
“I was there when you followed Vasilia around like a puppy, if you recall—” Suraiya’s eyes widened at that statement and she listened with greater interest “—and I for one do remember your buck-toothed awkward phase when you could barely lift a sword. So!” She joined her gesticulating hand to its opposite on her hips and grinned at him savagely. “If you think to beckon me like a dog again, just because you’ve got a fancy moniker and a Knightly title now, I’ll see to it you spend the rest of this journey nursing so many saddle sores you can’t walk straight. Are we clear?”
Suraiya’s shock had started to mount when Eluviale had begun her speech, but as the elf’s tirade continued to grow in both tempo and volume, the Princess could only goggle in disbelief. What truly set her mind spinning was when Ser Gilbert, the Storm’s Blade, Knight-Captain of Stormharrow and Champion of the King actually recoiled and took a step back at the tonguelashing.
“You’ve made your point, Eluviale.” He rumbled quietly. “More than well enough.”
The elven woman nodded with a satisfied smirk. “Good, because your fancy sparks might scare this lot—” she jerked her thumb at the Knights and Adventurers both “—but I still remember the night of warm streams, Ser Gilbert, and don’t you bloody forget it.”
Ser Gilbert’s mouth opened, closed, opened again… and then he muttered something that almost sounded like a prayer and turned to Suraiya. “I leave you in Healer Eluviale’s capable hands, your highness. Please be ready to move shortly. We pack up camp in an hour’s time.”
Suraiya barely remembered to nod to him as he turned to depart with a flare of his cloak, and started away while barking orders at the collection of onlookers. Unlike Eluviale they did find him worth listening to, it seemed, and leapt to begin preparations to leave as he stalked through the entire lot like a thunderhead.
“I have never seen anyone talk to him that way.” Suraiya said in an awed voice as she turned back to Eluviale. “Not that I wish him to be disrespected, you understand, but that was…”
The tall elf smiled at her slyly and moved closer in order to lower herself to a knee, reaching out to gently touch her arm and examine it with her fingers. “Gilbert is a good boy, but he forgets his origins at times,” Eluviale said simply. “He forgets that he was not always the ready blade at the side of the King, and that there are those of us that knew his mentor better than even he did.”
Suraiya winced in pain but otherwise allowed her the inspection, all while focusing on the older woman’s intense blue-green eyes as she worked and listening to her words. “I did catch what you said to him earlier,” she said cautiously. “You knew my mother?”
Eluviale nodded and glanced up at her with a smile before looking back to the arm. Warm green light began to dance around her fingers, and the elf gently soothed away the lingering pain in preparation for her healing work. “Vasilia and I were in a party together before she became Princess Royal. She was more of a now-and-then member admittedly, due in no small part to how in-demand she was for the more perilous duties. I was stuck as an Aspirant Tier Soother back then, and your mother was the rising star of the guild.”
“How did you two meet, then, if I may ask?” Suraiya enquired carefully.
“Ha! It’s alright, your highness. You are not breaking any social boundaries. I have nothing to hide.” She shifted her hands down to Suraiya’s elbow and allowed the healing energy to seep into her skin while adopting a ponderous expression. “Mmm… I was sitting outside on a box, I believe, and lamenting the fact I would never amount to anything worthwhile. That is when your mother found me.”
Suraiya blinked in surprise. “Truly? That hardly seems like you…”
“Oh yes.” Eluviale affirmed cheerfully. “I was quite down in the dumps, but Vasilia came in like a force of nature, all bright-eyed and golden-haired power and demanded, if you can believe, that I accompany her on a jaunt into a nearby Dungeon. It had just opened up, and she’d managed to snag the contract for it, but there were no Soothers immediately available. None except for me, of course.”
“And you two cleared the dungeon alone?” Suraiya asked in surprise.
“Oh my, you are a lover of fantastical tales aren’t you?” Eluviale said with a laugh like musical chimes, which bloomed an embarrassed flush in Suraiya’s cheeks. “No my dear, she already had another person waiting for us. The big oaf I now call my husband, in fact. It was the first time we truly spent time together, actually. I fell for him in the Dungeon itself, in point of fact. Your mother led us on a merry rampage throughout its interior, and it was all I could do to keep up with her. Antony was a pillar of strength for me throughout, and ensured I was safe while Vasilia… well,” she waved a hand in amusement, “did her thing.”
“I… I see.” Suraiya said with a frown as some of her excitement deflated. Had her mother been a selfish gloryhound? It was not something she’d ever considered.
As if reading her mind, Eluviale let loose a tsk of gentle reprimand. “You are thinking it through wrong, Princess. I can see it on those pretty features of yours. Your mother entrusted me to Antony, and she was right to do so. She was already Gold rank by then, well on her way to Platinum. Antony and I were both Iron. She obliterated the various creatures that could actually threaten our lives, and left the ones that we could properly handle so that we could reap our own share of experience.” She smiled warmly at Suraiya as she spoke. “We gained seven full levels in that Dungeon.”
“Seven?!” Suraiya asked in shock. “How in the Realms did you manage that?”
“We found out later that the System had classified it as a rank two five-man dungeon. Your mother cleared it essentially by herself. Antony and I were both only qualified for rank one dungeons at that point.” Eluviale tilted her head thoughtfully. “I asked her about it later, and she said that it seemed ‘silly’ and ‘wasteful’ for a talented Slayer and talented Soother to be relegated to irrelevance because of a twist of fate. She had seen a chance to let us prove our mettle, and given it to us.”
The elven woman grinned conspiratorially and lowered her voice to a whisper, while Suraiya leaned in eagerly to listen. “Plus she needed two more people to meet the minimum entry requirements the guild laid out. Ha.”
Suraiya laughed as the tension and doubt melted from her, and she looked wistfully away from Eluviale toward the stretching expanse of the Desolation.
“I hope to be like her one day.” She said with hope, doubt, and nervousness blossoming in her chest. “She was already near her second Temper at my age, and here I am barely closing in on my first of three body essences.”
“You can’t compare yourself to her.” Eluviale said gently.
“Because I am so much weaker?” Suraiya asked with a sudden bitterness that shocked even herself. “So much more delicate?”
“No.” Eluviale said while meeting her eyes firmly and reaching up to lightly cup her face. Suraiya froze for a moment, before leaning into the contact slowly. It felt… nice. Eluviale’s fingers were warm, and softly comforting. “Dear child, you are attempting to compare yourself to the Sun while only yet in the earliest stages of your radiance. You are a Princess, Suraiya. Your duty to your people is something Vasilia never had to bear. She grew up a noblewoman, certainly, and one of independent spirit much like yourself… but she never had your chains. She never had your burdens. She was free, and you were not.”
The elf moved her hand and brushed away some strands of blonde that had fallen over Suraiya’s eyes, and the princess couldn't help but feel a small strain of moisture in her eyes. She had no idea where the upswell of emotion came from, or why it struck her with such sudden and intense furore. Abruptly it was all she could do to keep from crying.
“What if I’m not strong enough?” The Princess asked in a voice that sounded fragile to her own ears. “What if I… What if I disappoint her?”
“Suraiya,” Eluviale said warmly, “You could never disappoint her. You were her greatest pride from the moment you were born, and I would wager you were the last thing she thought about when she returned to the earth’s embrace, as well. You may be a Karelian, dear one, but you are a Tollarius as well — and that fire, your mother’s fire, burns within you as brilliantly as it did within her. You have yet to find your rhythm or your place, it’s true, but you will.” The Elf’s smile was like balm on the wound when it came. “Of that, I assure you, there is no doubt at all.”
Ten minutes later Suraiya watched Eluviale’s departing form quietly, having thanked and then quickly dismissed Dame Taryn when she’d enquired after her wellbeing following the elf’s ministrations. The tall Healer had deeply touched her with their few short moments together, and yet the Princess couldn’t help but feel strangely wary of the tall and powerful Soother. There had been no malice in her actions, and nothing overtly suspicious in how she had soothed or comforted Suraiya.
She had even apologised for breaking protocol after the fact, though Suraiya had waved it off without a second thought.
The Princess couldn’t quite place what it was that stirred herself to be cautious of Eluviale, but there was one thing that she would be grateful for no matter what happened.
The elf had reminded her of what it was like to feel safe, and understood, and heeded in a way that none of her current minders — and certainly not her father — had ever managed. It was a small thing, perhaps, in the grand tapestry of life… but one that had left Suraiya feeling a plethora of emotions too complex to name.
“Perhaps the problem lies with me…” She murmured to herself while Eluviale descended the hill toward her waiting husband and friends. “It just felt so… familiar…” She continued while she reached up to lightly brush away some final, errant tears. It truly had felt familiar, and warm, and safe. It had reminded her of something she never thought she’d experience again, and certainly not in the Desolation.
It had felt like having her mother back.
* * * * *
Eluviale rejoined her husband with a small smile as she departed the Princess’ side, her Empyrean Elucidation still honed in on Suraiya’s stoked emotions. She could feel the girl’s bubbling mindstate as it vacillated from sorrowful to confused, and then from confused to guarded and wary, with more confusion and faint yearning threaded in. The elf kept her face straight as she walked, linking her arm with Antony’s and waiting until they were halfway back to where their carts were positioned before breaking the silence.
“She is very much her mother’s daughter,” Eluviale said wearily as she released her skill and felt the drain on her Soulforce finally stop. “Her will is already incredible for an Untempered.”
“Did it work though?” Antony asked quietly.
“Yes.” Eluviale confirmed with a tired smile as she turned to settle back against the cart that held their packed belongings. “I found the threads with my Intent and plucked at the chords of her suppressed emotion. She was surprisingly vulnerable once I was in, and the recollections I shared of Vasilia as well as a few careful emotional prompts during physical contact broke her walls astutely…” She frowned somewhat in thought before continuing. “Though prior to that… she was subconsciously defending herself in a way that is rare to find, my love.”
“You did what you had to do,” Antony said consolingly as he reached out to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. “Vasilia would have understood, and it isn’t as if y’lied to her. You just… encouraged her feelings, is all.” He waved a hand airily. “It’s important that we make this connection with Suraiya. It’s the only way to ensure she will do what is right when the time comes.”
“Is robbing her agency truly the best way forward, though?” Eluviale asked as she closed her eyes and rested her head against the cart. “It feels like deception, no matter how benevolent the intent. I’m twisting the girl’s memory of her mother — our friend, our sister — in order to gain her trust and faith. It… feels like a perversion.”
“That’s because you’re a good person, wife of mine.” Antony responded in his deep and wonderfully rumbling baritone. “But what you are doing will ensure her survival when we meet the Reclaimer, and allow her to break free from the chains of the Ascendancy.”
“Are you so certain it will be enough?” Eluviale asked softly. “What if it isn’t? What if Marcus…” She took a steadying breath before continuing, and suppressed the pang of terror in her heart at the memory of the King Dracolisk venom. “What if she doesn’t choose the right path?”
Antony went silent while he pondered her words, and she opened her eyes to regard him after it dragged on. Her eyes first went to his, and then followed them to where he looked; to Ser Gilbert, standing atop the hill and barking orders.
“Ah.” She said quietly. “That is what it comes back to, always.”
“Gilbert cannot be allowed to threaten the Reclaimer. Not until they are strong enough to resist him, or if necessary destroy him. Him and anyone else that tries to stop the Reclamation.”
“We have no idea if the Reclaimer will even need time, love.”
Antony shook his head. “Not true. Bjorn wouldn’t have sent me with six near-Expert level Aegii if he thought that. His orders’re very clear: Find the Reclaimer and bring them back. Period.”
Eluviale sighed. “Even if they choose not to come?”
Antony’s jaw locked and he didn’t reply, which in fairness was plenty reply enough.
“It’s only been one night and I already feel like we’re plunging into dark waters.”
“Nothing about this was ever gonna be easy, love.” Antony replied gruffly. “All we can do is remember what we’re fightin’ for, and do our best to honour it and our ancestors.”
“Until we must no longer hide…” She murmured softly.
“We owe it to the world to win,” Antony said with a quiet and determined rumble.
“No matter the cost to our conscience?” She asked amid a swirl of guilt.
“No matter the cost to anyone, love.” Her husband replied grimly. “No matter the cost to anyone.”