Von
“Talla of Bosque is here to see you again, my lord,” said Maria the Maid. She bowed sincerely and deeply, her knees nearly touching the ground and her eyes aimed low. Until not too long ago, she used to mock me for being a spoiled brat, Von thought. Then he corrected himself. It was five years before, even if it felt like yesterday for him. “Shall I send her away once more?”
He considered it. “No.” It had been three days since they had first met and Talla had asked for an audience twice a day, every day, without fail since. He might as well get it over with. “Send her in.”
More than undeserving, Von felt like nearly an imposter, being handed out praise he had not earned.
Certain days this hardly bothered him and certain days it felt as though a heavy fog was summoned inside his chest, growing denser by the second, driving him to his knees and making him gasp for air. People praised him now, but they also didn’t. There were those he remembered as having mocked him in the past and that now bowed deeply in respect and admiration of what he had accomplished. It should have felt like a dream, yet it felt unreal—and not merely because it was too good to be true.
They are talking to Great Swordsman Von. And I am not him. Von knew he supposedly had trained and become one of the greatest swordsmen in the Six Princedoms. Yet he didn’t feel like one. It was easy to dream of suddenly being treated with respect and admiration. It was harder to accept it. Von could never bring himself to work hard for his dreams, but that did not mean he did not long for glory. On the contrary, it meant he was more aware than most of the difficulty of the matter. It took a special kind of brave fool to dedicate the blaze of their lives to that which only very few succeed.
There were many difficult paths one could tread in life—a successful merchant, a business owner of some sort, a Healer, among others. Yet those were paths one could reasonably be assumed to have a fair shot at success if given the resources to do so, which most weren’t. Yet what of something like being the strongest swordsman in generations? Very few could claim success to something like that. If you aim low and succeed, no one will complain. If you proclaim your strong ambitions to the world and fail, nothing awaits you but the humiliation of failure. One who claimed to be strong proving so was met with nothing but a vague shrug and a, ‘Eh, guess that was true in the end.’ Yet someone who made that claim and failed to back it up would be met with more mockery than Von could bear to imagine.
Meeting people…being mocked…I can’t deal with that. And you can’t be competitive if you aren’t willing to look like an idiot.
That was why Von admired those who worked hard. Who got up every day early on to chase after a dream most would tell them to be impossible. And he knew he wasn’t one of them. This valor they attributed him with felt almost like a mockery of sorts.
He admired the Great Swordsman Von. But he was not him. He knew he was, but he also wasn’t. Just knowing his body had done those actions didn’t matter to him in the slightest. It felt just the same as if an intruder had stolen his body for five years.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Von of Redgrave,” Talla said, bowing deeply. Her voice was more formal than last time and she wore an elegant white dress, with too much exposed skin around the shoulders not to be impractical in this weather. Yet her face appears colder than herself. “It is most kind of you to grant an audience to this humble elf.”
“Do not bow—we are friends, are we not?” He thought they were, anyhow. Did things change after she found out his identity? “Let’s discuss this on those terms.”
She shook her head. “By your leave, my lord, this is a formal matter and I will speak of it formally.”
Stubborn. Von glanced at the maid and nodded at her to give them some privacy. Neither of them said anything until a few moments after we heard the door closing behind her. “There is no one around anymore,”he replied. “You can speak plainly.”
“I was lacking in manners earlier,” she said, her face unreadable. “My words implied much about the House of Redgrave—before I understood who you were, my lord.”
Von shook his head. “That doesn’t bother me.”
“Your treatment confuses me then. Why are we speaking here?” Talla’s voice rose slightly but it maintained an even tone, never peaking in either tail of her words. “It is my impression that official dealings with the House of Redgrave are conducted in the Dragon’s Mouth. That you have me in your reading room instead shows you have no interest in conducting business officially.”
Talla wasn’t wrong—but she wasn’t entirely right either. “Business can be handled anywhere. Tradition is meant to be shattered.” He knew he would have to pick his next words carefully. “Stormeners are…perhaps too rigid about tradition. It is for this reason that the hot springs beneath the castle are often used for such matters. A way to showcase our power and hospitality—‘Warm yourself in our springs. Forget the harsh cold outside.’ Nowadays most houses in Stormhelm have mighty fires and protect themselves well from the weather. Hardly matters. Just tradition. And it would be rude of me to force a woman to attend the hot springs with me just to discuss business.”
“I am ready to die to help my people.” Here her voice peaked slightly at the end and the corner of her mouth trembled. She wanted to yell at him but steadied herself—if only barely. “You think I would balk at my modesty?”
Von looked her in the eye and shook his head. “No,” he said honestly. “I do not question your sacrifices, my fair lady. It is exactly because I know of how much the Deathless Curse has caused you to forsake that I do not wish for you to go through any more unnecessary discomfort. Especially when there is preciously little to discuss.”
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“And there it is,” Talla said, a hint of casual anger in her voice, “you still wishes not to help us, then, Von of Redgrave?”
“I do!” he said. “I…I sincerely do. But I know not how. You need a champion swordsman, and you speak to a simple man. Someone who is not even fit to speak on behalf of Stormkeep—I only do so because my brother is away.”
Talla leaned forward, her eyes fierce. “I swore a vow in the name of my ancestors when we first met. Do you remember that?”
“Yes, but—“
“I will get your memory back and you will help.”
Her precise vow haunted him still. It made him scared of what she was planning to do. “Nonetheless,” he began, in a careful tone, “healers have come to see me and they have been unable to make much of anything about me. My memory is gone and it doesn’t appear like it can come back.”
“It will,” Talla insisted. “Somehow.” Her confident tone appeared just as much an attempt to convince herself as him. “In any case…there is another matter we need to discuss.”
“Another one?” Von frowned. “What else is there to speak about?”
“I was challenged to a duel. My aggressor demands to know whether I am under Stormkeep’s guestright or whether I am to fight my own duel.”
Von leaned forward so much he nearly stood up from his seat. “Who challenged you? For what purpose?”
“Ardente, the baker’s son. He spotted an elf booking a room at the inn—and three days was too much for his patience. Challenged me to a duel, he did.” Talla appeared unperturbed by the matter and it was easy to see why. Ardente is an overconfident little shit, Von thought. Good with a sword, but hardly good enough to qualify for many tournaments. He was ranked #187 last he'd heard. Which still made him the best swordsman in Stormhelm…after Von himself.
“This is my fault,” Von said quickly, “if you had been in the castle—“
Talla shook her head. “I refused to sleep under your roof, lest I increase my debt to you more. This is my issue and I will settle it myself. Only, you understand—people know I have come to the castle often. So the man asked me if I am under your protection. What will satisfy your honor?”
If she was under guestright protection, Von would be her champion if her honor was challenged. Yet there was hardly an obligation for him to claim responsibility in a situation like this. Talla was not his guest precisely. And how could he defend her? Von barely remembered how to hold a sword. He could send a champion on his behalf, but to do so as a champion swordsman would be shameful—it would be less dishonorable to allow her to engage in the duel herself. “It will not stain my honor if you duel for yourself,” Von said. She was in the top 32 in Blade Valley. Ardente was #187 in the Six Princedoms. This would not be a close fight. She would not need his help.
“I see.” There was disappointment in her voice. “It was good to see you, Von of Redgrave. I shall return tomorrow.” And she stood up to leave.
“Wait!” Von called out. “What—what do you want from me? To miraculously regain my memories? To fight on your behalf? For what purpose? You can win the duel yourself!”
The way she looked at him killed him. There was no resentment, nor was there any lingering negativity. It was just a lack of respect. Talla was hardly rude—she saw him as a decent person. But not as an equal. It’s like people used to look at me before…those five years. “It merely amuses me,” Talla said, “your selectiveness with honor.”
“What do you mean?”
“You will not treat me the same as a regular foreign diplomat and will shame me in the name of honor—because the action comes easy for you. Proudly you will disregard tradition for the sake of my honor, but you will not step up to defend it. I ask not for your protection, but if you show me not consistency and I will see mockery.”
Von stood up and looked her in the eye. “That is—that is not the same! I will do whatever I can to help you. But when something is beyond me…”
“I know.” Talla’s voice was surprisingly kind here. She hesitated, then said, “Lord Von of Redgrave, would you mind if I broke decorum for a moment?”
What is she planning? Von nodded slowly, hesitantly. “Aye, my fair lady.”
She took a step forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “You are a good man,” she said, gently. Slowly, her hand fell to his chest and she pressed the back of her palm against it. A part of Von rebelled against this action—so unnatural it was for him to be so close to another human being. But he stood still and let her take the lead. “You have a gentle Heartbeat.” Talla looked at him with an understanding, if sad gaze. “There is much you cannot do and you know it. But you treat others with respect and kindness. Please, do not mistake my anger for forgetfulness. The people of Bosque—every Elf—needs Vandyr to be defeated. No matter what. When we first met…” She paused. It wasn’t truly their first meeting, but it felt like it. “Three days ago, you treated me with kindness while other humans fear my kind. I do not forget that.”
Suddenly her open palm curled into a tight fist, twisting both Von’s overcoat and skin beneath. It hurt, but he could not say it aloud. Von could not admit to weakness. He felt the pinching pain and looked at her, his face something between offended and scared. “But what I need right now isn’t your gentle Heartbeat. I need Von the Swordsman’s cruelty. I need your Dark Heartbeat. That ominous greed that defeated my best friend.” Talla let go of her grip and smiled at Von sadly. “It upsets me, this does. You understand, surely?” She laughed weakly. “Because I hated the scumbag that you were before, Von. I could not stand to be in the same room as him. But I could see myself becoming friends with the you right now.” Talla shook her head. “Yet, the cruel, horrible Von I know wouldn’t hesitate in dueling for me. He would see it as his divine duty.”
“The Von you know was a master swordsman, my fair lady.”
“It wouldn’t matter.” Her voice was more than confident, Talla spoke as if stating a plain fact. “That man would die with an arrogant grin on his face insisting he would achieve the impossible. If he were faced with an opponent he still couldn’t win…he would face him still.”
Von held her gaze for a moment and found himself choking up slightly. “Well,” he muttered, “I’m not that man.”
“I know. And I do not blame you for it.” She smiled again. “My duel is in four days. Come watch it. Perhaps it will remind you of how swordsmanship works.”
“Of course, my fair lady,” he replied slowly. He was right, he knew.
Yet the notion of not fighting for her disquieted his heart and he knew not why.