Helen couldn’t help but be relieved at the sensation of solid ground, her steel-toe boots clacking against the stone harbor. She breathed in the night air, her arms above her head as she stretched. It felt good to be back home.
“Heh, home,” Helen chuckled. She still couldn’t believe it. Even after months of living on this island, she still couldn’t believe that she had a home all to herself. Her own little hut, built a while back for her and her only. It was surreal to think about.
“I can’t wait to get to bed,” Seamus yawned as he walked onto the harbor. He wobbled a little as he stepped on the ground, a consequence of the day-long voyage from Aldren.
“Best we both do,” Helen muttered. “We will have to resume training tomorrow.”
Seamus grimaced at that. “Can’t it wait?”
“Nah,” Helen responded with a sly smile before she headed into Yorktown. “Get some sleep, Seamus. Training will start at sunrise. I’ll see you then.”
As Helen walked through the town’s streets, she noted how little foot traffic was present. Usually, she would have to fight against the movements of crowds and merchants, but now, there was barely anyone.
‘Must be late,’ Helen thought to herself. She stopped her walk and looked up at the night sky.
Luna and Callisto were out tonight, the blanket of clouds breaking up to allow their light to shine down on the town. Helen felt a little uneasy. The peaceful night was unnerving to her. It had been ever since she became a soldier during the Outsider Wars, back when she was posted on night watches to look out for barbarian raiders. Even after the war, quiet nights still radiated danger for her.
The marauders were never short of enemies during her time serving Deimos. Bandits, rival clans, and even creeping sea creatures. It had all instilled a primal instinct to be untrustworthy of the night. Quiet had rarely ever meant peace for Helen.
Yet tonight, despite her instincts, Helen knew she was safe. She had seen the checkpoints James had set up around the island. She herself had trained the guardsmen here to be vigilant and careful. There were even multiple alarm buoys set up by Wizard Falrick himself. The chances of a raid were close to nil.
Helen was still acclimating to the feeling of safety. She just needed some time to get used to it.
“Helen!” a voice called out to her.
Helen turned her head to see a familiar face running up to her. It was a guardswoman, her blue tabard flowing in the wind, and the raven patch seeming to fly in the invisible breeze.
“Kate?” Helen said. She could tell by the lightish brown hair of the guardswoman that it was none other than Rowan, an up-and-coming prodigy within the guardsmen.
“Has Seamus arrived yet?” Kate asked as she approached. She looked flustered, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving from exertion.
“Yes,” Helen answered with a chuckle. “He’s heading off to his hut right now, I suppose. You can catch him there.”
“Thanks,” Kate answered in a relieved breath before she turned. Just as she was about to head out, Helen called after her.
“Try not to cramp yourself up tonight; you have training tomorrow,” Helen said, a slight smile breaking at the edge of her lips as she walked. While she couldn’t see Kate’s reaction, the veteran was sure that she was even more red in the face.
‘Ah, young love,’ Helen thought with a chuckle as she walked through the nearly empty streets. She would soon pass by a familiar building, one that she herself had stayed at not long ago. Helen pressed against the door, opening it to reveal a long room with two rows of beds.
Tonight, the infirmary was manned by two healers, one at the front by the door. He gave Helen a tired nod, his eyes weighed with black bags. He yawned as he stretched, his gaze soon sighting the other healer. She was currently tending to one rowdy patient in a bed, the sounds of hushed cursing audible from where Helen stood.
Helen grinned as she strode over to the bed, watching the healer struggle to keep Lilith on the bed. The young berserker was still in bandages, her red hair flailing wildly as she tried to shake the healer off her. It seemed like Lilith was refusing to take medicine again.
Lilith was a mute woman who had once hailed from the island of Aldren before it had burnt down. She was related to Seamus by blood, and their mothers shared siblinghood. Helen would’ve never guessed since Lilith’s head of hair was that of a dark, rich red while Seamus’ was pitch black.
“Red!” Helen called to the woman, who immediately froze at the sound of her voice. Lilith’s expression changed from a feral anger to an unbound glee when her eyes met with the veteran. The short pause was enough for the healer to quickly pour the concoction into Lilith’s agape mouth. The berserker sputtered at that, her eyes wide with surprise as she accidentally gulped.
“Finally,” the healer muttered in exhaustion as she stumbled off to her colleague, her robes in tatters and her forearms sporting a couple scratches. Helen reminded herself then to reimburse the healers later for their work.
“How are you doing?” Helen asked as she approached Lilith, who lay back in her bed. Despite the veteran being gone for two days, the young berserker’s hair was already a clumped and frazzled mess. Helen watched as the young woman raised her restricted hands to her chest, her fingers forming symbols and signs. Thanks to Seamus, Helen was able to read what Lilith had communicated.
I’m fine. Bed is uncomfortable. When can I leave?
“Well, if you stop putting up so much fuss, then perhaps you’ll be able to leave soon,” Helen reprimanded. She sighed and shook her head. “Probably a couple more weeks. Healing takes time.”
Of course, there was the option of using a healing potion. Yet those were expensive and varied in quality. Even then, the affordable ones were to be used in the midst of battle to staunch and prevent wounds from getting worse. That was the problem with most health potions. The minor ones, while useful, could do little against long-term damage like fractured bones.
Also, there was the risk of potion sickness. Helen would rather not lose the young woman to a bad concoction made by some shady Wizard in Vindis. No offense to Nathan, of course.
How was liberating my home? Aldren.
Helen grinned broadly. “We kicked their asses. Those orcs never stood a chance.”
Lilith smiled brightly at that, her eyes glinting with excitement. She quickly moved to sign.
I cannot wait to be able to move and fight again. I am filled with excitement at the prospect of feeling the wind against my hair and the weight of an ax in my hand.
“Is that right?” Helen asked amusingly. She picked at a tangled strand of hair, one of many that added to Lilith’s frazzled look. The young woman blushed, her hands straining as she tried to fix her hair.
“Don’t fret,” Helen chuckled as she gently stopped her. “I’ll braid it again tomorrow when I have time.”
Lilith stopped at that, her smile returning. She gave an excited nod as she signed.
I want to try a new style.
“Really?” Helen decided to entertain the berserker. “What did you have in mind?”
The one Dahlia had. Before she had cut her hair short. I really liked it.
Helen closed her eyes and racked her memory for a second. She recalled Dahlia’s hair before her fight with the Lumen Knight. At one point, she had it in multiple buns, but it wasn’t what she had the day after Aldren. Helen recalled it as two braids that wrapped into a small bun at the back of her head.
“I can do that,” the veteran confirmed with a nod. She opened her eyes and was surprised when Lilth reached over to hug her despite bandages and casts holding certain areas of her arms and legs. Helen didn’t resist. She just let it happen, knowing full well of the blush that was appearing on her face. When Lilith laid back in her bed, Helen gave a cough.
“Alright then, it’s about time I headed off,” she said as she stood. “It’s important business.”
Lilith gave a nod and signed.
Time for a drink?
Helen couldn’t help but bark a laugh at that. She decided then to give the berserker a sign of her own, that being her middle finger.
Lilith returned the rude gesture in kind, her grin wide.
----------------------------------------
There was only one tavern in Yorktown, which had grown to be a problem during busy days. Helen recalled James talking about opening a new haunt around the harbor and marketplace to direct more traffic to it instead of the one he and his friends frequented.
Helen herself had rarely gone in for the past few months due to the immense crowds of people that would visit to grab a drink or place to stay, despite the hostels near the marketplace. She had to count herself lucky to snag a drink during the day.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
For now, however, in the midst of night, Helen found the tavern spacious enough for her to sit down and enjoy a cold brew alone.
Helen breathed a sigh of relief as she sat down at the bar, her hands rubbing together for warmth.
“Gladis, I’d like the usual, please,” Helen called out to the barwoman, who perked up from behind the bar. She sighed tiredly as she filled a tankard with some mead before passing it to the veteran.
“Good to see you again, Helen,” Gladis said with a weak smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve last seen you here.”
“Well, you know how it is,” Helen muttered as she sipped her drink. “I’ve been itching for a cold drink for the past week. Now that Aldren has been liberated, I guess I can relax for now.”
“I’m glad you’re doing well,” Gladis sighed. Her eyes glanced off to the side, a pang of sadness glinting within them. “I wish I could say the same for him.”
Helen stopped mid-sip and turned to the bar woman’s glance. At the corner of the bar was a lone man, his hand clenching onto a tankard. He was slumped in place, his clothes a mess, and his hair all messy. Helen noted the pointed ears and immediately recognized the drunk.
“Archibald?” Helen muttered aloud. Archibald had once been a mercenary hired by James to help on his quest during last Frost. Back then, the elf had been a snobby, posh piece of work. While skilled, Archibald was usually one to back out of dangerous situations. That was, until the Battle for Vindis.
The elf had rushed into the fray with Helen to assist with taking back the city from the marauders and Lumen soldiers. Archibald had said he was only doing it for the pay, but Helen knew that the elf didn’t give a rat’s ass about gold back then. He was simply doing it to save the city and its people.
To Helen, it was an act of bravery.
“He’s still…” Helen started.
“Still wasting his time here,” Gladis answered, “Been like this for months now. James already tried talking with him. No such luck.”
“Have you tried cutting him off?” Helen asked.
“He’s still on his first drink for today,” Gladis revealed. “Nothing to cut off if he gets sloshed after half a pint.”
“What’s he drinking?” Helen raised an eyebrow.
“Last of Bjorn’s brew,” Gladis answered.
“There’s still some left?” Helen swore that the late dwarf had only made enough barrels to sell off to Markov during Midsommar. That was the entire reason why James was doing his best to recreate it now.
“It’s the last barrel he made shortly before Midsommar,” Gladis said. “It’s recently become ready to drink, so Archibald here has been requesting a tankard of it daily for the past month.”
Helen frowned at the sight of the drunk elf, who was currently stewing in his own misery. She had seen it before. Hel, she had once been a victim of it. This wasn’t her first brush with grief. Helen recalled her time in the Outsider Wars, back when she had watched allies and comrades die to barbarians.
She recalled the men and women who died by her side during the Battle for Vindis. Helen had to leave their bodies behind as she pushed forth with Dahlia to get the alarm totem to the center.
Helen remembered the day she learned about Harald’s and Bjorn’s fates. It was barely the morning after the battle, and she had recovered from her injuries. She had been looking forward to drinking a couple of tankards with Harald to celebrate their victory.
The news of his death had stunned her like nothing else. She wouldn’t believe it at first. She had even called James out on it, accusing him of identifying the wrong body. She had denied it. That was until she had a look at his body. His and Bjorn’s. It had felt like a dream, yet the veteran could not deny the reality of what had happened.
Her friends were dead.
It made her feel weak, as if it were her fault, that if she had just stayed with them, things would have been different.
Helen had never felt such an emotion in so long.
Archibald was going through something similar to what she had in the past. Helen recognized it whenever someone was trying to drink themselves into forgetting. She had done so in the past, back when she was just a wandering merc in Vindis City.
“I’ll talk with him,” Helen muttered as she stood from her chair. She approached the young elf, who was doing his best to down the next few sips of his drink. He grimaced at the taste before letting out a burp.
“Drowning your sorrows?” Helen called out.
Archibald swiveled his head to the veteran, his tired eyes glinting with scrutiny. “I’d like to be alone, please.”
“Well, unfortunately for you, I need a drinking buddy,” Helen said as she sipped her mead.
“Tch,” Archibald sucked in his teeth before he broke his focus off her. “Try all you want. I’m not leaving.”
“I’m not here to tell you that,” Helen said. “I’m only here to talk with you.”
“Talk, huh?” Archibald scoffed. “I’m betting you’re about to go on about how things get better? How the dead want me to move on? Perhaps you want to tell me that I’m alive for a reason?”
Helen felt her brow furrow as the elf rambled on, his hands waving into the air as his voice rose.
“The truth is, there’s no point in me going on with my life,” Archibald said. “Not when the world is as shit as it is.”
“Things can change,” Helen responded with a shrug.
“Hah!” Archibald let out a short dry laugh. “Don’t give me that. Things are never going to change. Not when it’s all just…. Violence and death. No one can change that. Not James. Not the Gods. So what’s the point in even going on? When there’s nothing we could do to change it?”
“The point,” Helen started with a mutter. “Is to try.”
Archibald turned to her with a raised eyebrow. “What?”
“We have to try,” Helen said a little louder. “To make things better. If we don’t, then what’s the point?”
“Did you not hear me–”
“I heard you just fine,” Helen interrupted. “The world is a shit place, sure. Violence and death all around. Changing it is something that seems impossible, but you should take a minute to pay attention.”
“What are you on about?”
“Think for a moment,” Helen swirled her finger in the air, almost like she was gesturing to their surroundings. “If you told anyone here a year back that this island would become a central part of the Arenian-Valenfrost trade, they’d call you mad.”
“That’s… debatable,” Archibald muttered.
“Alright, let’s do another example,” Helen continued. “Think of the feats we’ve completed in the past year. The islands we’ve conquered. The people we’ve saved—”
“Not everyone was saved,” Archibald interrupted. He clenched his tankard tightly before he took a drink from it, the golden liquid dribbling down his chin. Once done, he slammed it back onto the bar. “I know what you’re trying to say. What you want to tell me. But…”
Helen could see how Archibald avoided eye contact with her, his messy black hair obscuring his eyeline. Yet she could still see the drops of tears hitting the bar.
“What’s the point of trying if I was too weak to save Bjorn?” Archibald said between choked breaths. “I wasn’t strong enough to stay with him, and I wasn’t fast enough to get back to him.”
Helen stared at the sniffling elf, who tried his best not to outright sob.
“Sorry, it’s just…” Archibald trailed off for a moment, his face turning away despite his hair already covering most of it. “I’m not exactly used to it all. To the death. To the fighting. Vindis was the first battle I’ve been a part of.”
“You never participated in the Outsider Wars?” Helen asked. While he did look young, around Seamus’ age, Archibald was an elf. His pointed ears confirmed that. What kind of elf he was was an entirely different story.
All elves were descendants of the silver-haired elves of myth and legend, their bloodline mixed with the common human. Their lifespans could reach near the two hundred mark depending on how “pure” their bloodline was. However, those were rare cases. Most elves tended to look young for only half a century before age crept in. They’d die of old age not long after a hundred years. That wasn’t so bad since the average lifespan of a human was roughly eighty. At least, that is what Helen had heard.
“I was… sheltered most of my life,” Archibald admitted. “I was only able to be who I am after finally breaking out of the monotony that was my life. My fortieth birthday was when I decided to leave, to go out and make my own adventure.”
Helen nearly choked on her drink.
‘Forty? Dear Caelus, he’s older than I.’
“How long has it been?” Helen asked slowly.
“Not long,” Archibald said. “Three years, give or take. It’s… difficult for me to keep track of time. With my extended lifespan and all.”
“How young is forty for you? For your family, that is,” Helen prompted curiously.
“Apparently, barely an adult,” Archibald muttered. “My bloodline is somewhat pure, as you would call it. Most humans spend their twenties living their lives and pursuing their destinies. I spent my twenties learning to read. To swing a sword.”
‘So, in elf terms, he’s around Seamus’ age.’
“But there’s a problem with that,” Archibald muttered. He took a swig of his drink before slamming it back down. “I…perceive things normally.”
“Normally?”
“Like humans. Like you,” Archibald said. “I was born to a human mother and an elf father. My father was the closest to a Silverhair. His own parents were direct descendants of the ancients. My mother… She was purely human. I don’t know if I inherited it or if it rubbed off on me. All I know is that I had to deal with my mother’s fleeting mortality as I grew up. Had to watch her wither away in age.”
Helen only listened. She didn’t know what else to say or do. She could only listen to Archibald’s drunken explanations.
“She died in my late thirties. Something changed after that. Time seemed to slow down. Like it wasn’t moving as fast as before,” Archibald muttered. “I ran off from my family later on, perhaps to try and escape from all the responsibilities. Or maybe I was just running away from the ever-coming passage of time. Not all of the people back home were as ‘pure’ blooded as I was.”
“So you became a mercenary?” Helen asked.
“Not at first,” Archibald admitted. “Tried adventuring. Didn’t work out well. Tried to do guard work. Didn’t like it. Mercenary was an alright trade, and it paid well, I suppose. I had a terrible sense of money. Then again, I had a terrible sense of everything. I did let you rope me into one of the worst jobs I ever took part in.”
Helen snorted. “Ah, but you never left, eh?”
Archibald scoffed, almost laughing in a way. “Yes, I never did leave.” His expression shifted then, going from nostalgic remembrance to instant sorrow.
“How about we reign it in for the night?” Helen asked. “Get some rest. Sounds right with you?”
“Rest…” Archibald muttered. “Yes. I would like that very much.”
Helen gave him a small pat on the back before she stood from her place at the bar. Without another word, the veteran guided the stumbling elf to his room upstairs. She decided then that she’d go easy on him the next time he showed up for training.
Gods knew they all needed a break every once in a while.