Random Encounters

Author’s Notes: First off, why does tab not equal indent in wordpress? D: Secondly, this was written under a 1000 word limit; note how the ending seems almost offensively abrupt Orz Well, it got me into the top 9 of around 90 entries, so I suppose it’s not all bad. An untitled work for a talecraft contest.

He could remember cresting the hill at a gallop, having sighted the smoke  tearing the horizon right down the middle. He could remember the gigantic, overblown campfire that had become of the grove. The grove that held all that was  sacred to him as a Druid, and held the one who was sacred to him as a man.
He could remember his frenzied flight down the hill, across the snowy plains and  fields. He could remember falling rather than dismounting in his hurry and  hysteria. He could remember the scent of pines turning to cinders, the music of  their fatal crackling, bandits fleeing the fiery grave.
He could remember the archers pelting his home, his grove, with their shafts  tipped with steel and fire. He could remember the man who stood at the head of the  ironclad formation. The Housekarl, glorious and sickening, stood, his face  stone-cold, as a foil to the inferno of life and death.
Fionn could remember the apology offered without sincerity, garnished with excuses  and justifications. The cherry on top had been the corpse of his wife…

The fifteen men-of-council sat around the table, a round affair carved from an  ancient oak. It had been given to then Karl-heir Ranault on his fifteenth birthday  by a positively obese father, to be received by a son whose pompous smile could have matched his father’s waistline in width. For many, it was a symbol of  the young Housekarl’s power. For Fionn Aengus, it was grand affront.
Presently, the Housekarl Ranault rose, and the fourteen others did likewise. The Bard read out a summary of their discussion: crops, resources, farms, surrounding landscape… Talking like they know a
wit… Wastrels, the lot of them…
Then the Housekarl nodded, adjourning the meeting. The councilors filed out,  bowing, or nodding to the Housekarl as they left. Fionn himself nodded grimly as  he exited, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
“Fionn,” Ranault said. “You’ll be attending the festival as normal, I  assume?”
How can it be normal, swine? My wife is DEAD! “…Of course.”
Ranault nodded. “I look forward to it. You’re continued cooperation… friendship, has been a great help to me.”
I’m sure it has, for all the attention you pay me. “It’s nothing,” Fionn replied flatly.
“Are you sure you’re alright, Fionn? I know it’s been hard, ever since…”
“We all grieved when she died, Ranault; that’s passed… We have more on our hands.”
Ranault nodded. “Alright then; I’ll see you on the festival.” With that  he left.
A lot on our hands… your blood will be on mine…

The festival day came with a little rain, and a lot of fanfare. The  advisors and councilors stood near the square in their finest coats, the Karl’s  guards behind them; the Bard had taken his position right next to the newly-built dais, leaning against it while his apprentices tuned their instruments. The Housekarl himself stood upon the dais in extremely prodigal wedding robes.
Far fromthe square, down the full length of the town’s main avenue, Fionn oversaw preparations for the procession and offering.
A cart, pulled by two oxen, dug into the mud of the main avenue as townsmen piled it high with fruits, vegetables, herbs and various others. Fionn wouldoccasionally comment on the arrangement of the offerings, and sometimes arrange them himself.
“Fionn!” called a voice from behind the addressee.
Not even my student respects my title… “What, boy?”
The boy, Alaois, started slightly, a bit put off by Fionn’s cold reception. He went on, though tentatively.
“I brought that thing you wanted.”
“…Let’s see them.”
Alaois reached into a satchel at his waist and paused. “There was only one.”
Fionn’s eyes narrowed. “Are you quite sure of this?”
His apprentice nodded, and then produced a single apple. “This was all I found on that tree.”
Fionn took the apple. It was really an unremarkable apple. It was a pale kind of  red, splotched with yellow-green, and only somewhat shiny; it had that feeling of being more natural than simply all-natural.
The Druid sighed. “Are you quite sure there wasn’t a second one?”
Alaois nodded. “Might have been eaten by an animal, or something…”
Oh, but you would have been able to tell, kid. “Has anyone visited the Grove between when we left yesterday and when you went today?”
“How would I know?”
“Footprints, boy,” Fionn snapped. “Tracks or something. Nothing?”
Alaois shook his head.
“Alright then, this will have to do. Well, get ready, boy, the procession’s  starting.”
Fionn took his position in front of the cart while Alaois left to join the crowd.
The Druid’s steps were like notes in crescendo, each the punctuation of a sentence of hate
in a final, vengeful essay. His hand reached in his pocket for what was to be his clincher, his final word. As the dais came into view, the bells began to sound; their noise concealed by their travesty of music.
Fionn was only aware of the world in the vaguest sense; all he longed for was his cue to release the built up well of hate. Then it came.
“… Druid Fionn, with his offering for the Housekarl and his Lady.” Clapping. Up the steps. Pocket…
Fionn bowed low, and, rising, extended his arm, displaying the completely unremarkable apple.
Ranault looked at it, and smiled at Fionn, though his eyes displayed more than a hint of irritation. “A most… interesting… fruit… great Druid.”
Eat it, you wastrel. Fionn smiled lopsidedly and nodded.
“Try it, my dear,” Ranault said to his bride.
Fionn’s mouth tightened in shock, but as the bride took it and bit, he burst into laughter.

Fionn stumbled roughly into the prison cell.
Ranault looked down at him with bloodshot eyes. “I’m sorry it had to end this way, Fionn… I never meant for your wife’s death. The bandits came and there was nothing I could do… except to kill them in defense of my people.”
“You couldn’t defend the one that mattered.”

Notes: What can I say about this story… It’s one of my favorites among my works (read: it’s one of the few I’m not embarrassed about showing) and it’s in the fantasy genre (and I write almost nothing else) so that makes it perhaps one of the best things to represent what it is I write. Given those qualities, I chose it to be my opening entry (aside from the default post that the site gives you)

Aside from that, I’d rather let this story speak for itself right now. I was inspired by something I can’t quite pinpoint when I wrote this, and worked on it between the hours of 10 and 12 at night, over the span of three or four nights, so while I have tried to keep my grammar in top shape, I couldn’t help but err here and there…

Refrain

The tension of a battle was one of the immutable twisted pleasures of my career. Steel weighing down on my wrists, blood coursing through –and sometimes out of –my arteries, every second slowed and every moment sharpened. At its onset, it may intimidate, but the glory and thrill of a fight are ever more alluring than its results are –and believe me they are –terrible and gruesome. None of that matters in the moment, though; in the moment of combat, it’s kill or be killed, and there’s no real choice there.

I lashed out with my right-hand sword with a twist of my wrist and jerk of my arm; simple movements with a profound effect. The creature before me dropped its weapon as my steel tore through its throat, robbing it of life. With my left blade I parried an incoming blow; to the attacker I delivered a kick. He staggered back, and I twisted, intending to put my sword through him. I stumbled, though, and instead my shoulder slammed into his chest, knocking him down the grassy slope. He landed, dazed and prone, near a girl who was waiting, trembling, with a large branch in her arms.

“Kill him!” I shouted to the girl below.

She shrieked as the corpse landed, and delivered a panicked blow to the beast’s foot. Intended for the foot, anyway; it missed and stubbed a toe. The beast groaned, but was, expectedly, recovering. Gathering my balance, I leaped from the hillock and came upon it with my weapons. Three precise strikes to its shoulders brought it down, and an elegant, though bloody, thrust through the neck kept it there.

I turned to the girl. “What the hell was that? Aim for the damn head!”

She flinched, but had the nerve to reply “I was trying to incapacitate it…”

“Did I say kill or incapacitate?” My words were envenomed, my gaze like daggers.

“Look,” she shot back, “You might have low moral standards, but most people wouldn’t even consider murder! We have laws in civilization, you know, and ethics.”

“Murder? Look, he was considering it, and he probably thought it nothing more than getting dinner. Besides, it’s hardly murder! Does he even look human to you?”

A twitch of her slightly pointed ears said she didn’t appreciate the comment. “Excuse me?”

“My point is,” I lowered my face so that my breath was likely in her face. “Either learn to defend yourself, or I leave you here to die. It’d make life easier, really.”

With that, I turned around and stormed off, barely pausing to wipe my blades on some leaves before I sheathed them.

“You’re all the same, you adventurers,” people often said that word with scorn so the way she said it was no surprise “brutes, the lot of you…”

“I’m leaving.” I didn’t break the rhythm of my pace.

“Wait!” She called.

“No way,” I replied. “I’m through with you!”

“I can pay you!” she was stumbling through the brush by the sound of it.

“Not likely,” I replied, nonplussed. “I’m not that poor either.”

“What kind of ‘not that poor’ guy lugs half a ton of thumbs through a godforsaken swamp for ten days?” she mumbled, actually assuming I couldn’t hear it. Why, the very thought!

I was about to give her a stern reprimand, but that was when she boldly put forth her next offer.

“Well… One night!” She declared.

This made me pause and turn.

“Anything you want… for one night,” she said sultrily, and began sliding her dress off one shoulder. Her eyelids descended partway in a most becoming manner. Her hips twisted slightly…

“No!” I shouted, flailing a hand in front of my face and turning away. “Gods, what kind of degenerate do you take me for? Your opinion of me must be exceedingly low… No thanks, anyway.” I declared my unyielding refusal.

“But-”

“Besides,” I interrupted, “You’re not that hot.” A better lie I never told myself.

She “harrumph”-ed. “You’ll be single your whole life, like that.”

“I chose that fate years ago.” I turned again and took a step. “I don’t regret it.”

“But don’t you get lonely?”

I paused. You’ve rather prevented that, I thought to myself. (Or so I thought)

Her gasp indicated that my thoughts detoured through my vocal cords.

“Don’t flatter yourself; I meant you’re constant yapping makes you hard to ignore.”

She giggled.

“Whatever!” I shouted, “Just get moving already; we can make it by nightfall if we try.”

She hurried up to me, making lots of noise, and trying to cling to my arm as she reached me. I skillfully evaded.

“Enough with the damsel in distress facade,” I said. “This is the fourth age; get your act together.”

She did that harrumph sound again, but didn’t open her mouth for the rest of the considerable trip.

* * *

We had little trouble. The forest was full of hillocks and dips and a few pools of more fungus than water –and possibly spiced with a bit of rotting mice –but the terrain cleared up and leveled out the closer to the town we got. As soon as we broke the tree line, it was just smooth grasslands as far as the eye could see. Except, of course, for the town. Its shadow pricked the orange sky, surrounded by a glowing halo of deeper orange known as the sun.

And, just as I masterfully predicted, by nightfall we reached the town.

Remarkably, my companion had stayed in a fairly amiable silence the whole time.

“Finally,” I muttered.

There was a moment of unrestrained silence, as we both contemplated the sight before us and, at last, the termination of our tedious journey.

I cleared my throat. “I guess this is where we part,” I said nonchalantly.

“Hmm…” She made this kind of musing noise.

I regarded her in the deep dusk. “What?”

“We don’t have to part. Why don’t you come with me for a while? I’ll buy you some dinner, a few drinks, maybe.”

“What’s the catch?”

She stiffened. “Don’t be silly,” she smirked. “Unlike certain antisocial individuals, I know how to repay a debt.”

I shrugged. I wasn’t much for sticking around her (there I go, deluding myself again) but free food was always good for guys in my line of work (no lies here)

“Alright, then,” I said. “Have it your way. But there’d better be meat.”

She laughed. It was a soft, innocently amused kind of laugh. A bit naïve, but refreshing. As far as laughter went, I’d heard nothing but hyena calls, drunken whoops and bone-chilling cackles for over two years.

“Meat it is,” she said, and began approaching the town with a lively gait.

I followed, walking with a trifle more masculine reservation.

* * *

My travels had taken me to a lot of places, with short stops in dozens of towns. In my experience, a town is much like a sleeping ox. On the outside, it’s all dull colors, thick hide and no movement. You try and get inside, though, and suddenly your assaulted by a host of colors, gurgling noises, oozes and odors you’d probably never want to smell again. Oh, alright; there are a few good things about towns, too. This one wasn’t much different. Bad smell, ground slick with… something, and a lot of general gurgling from all over.

“Hurry up, will you! And stop staring!”

Her voice took my eyes from a broken shutter which partially concealed a vague human figure in the act of divesting, and brought my attention back to the road. She was hurrying towards a broad (relatively) avenue that ran perpendicular to the one we were on.

I caught up to her just as she turned to the right, where off in the distance were several lit Immortal Torches™ and, without a doubt, the origin of the cacophonic mix of melodies that suffused the air.

“Move it!” someone shouted from behind me.

I whirled around with reflexes honed by over a hundred deadly encounters, but not even the greatest of warriors would have had the reflexes to dodge to wave of mud that took me in the shins. Just to show there were no hard feelings, I waggled my middle finger at the driver’s back.

“Don’t be so uptight,” she said, hurrying past me, “ I’ll wash those later.”

I sighed, and followed.

She led me down the avenue of hard-packed soil to a stretch of taverns, inns and various houses of questionable repute. She proceeded purposefully, so she must have had somewhere in mind. I followed her somewhat absentmindedly, letting her take the lead while my attention flickered to the sights around us. Not that they were too interesting, mind you. A bunch of drunkards, a few slatternly, somewhat stubbly women, and here and there were patrons and tavern wenches exchanging slaps on the cheeks (needless to say, they were aiming for cheeks at different altitudes)

“In here,” she said. Her voice bore no hints of impatience, but compelled me to hurry anyway.

We ascended a few irregular steps of mold-bottomed, warped wood to a porch equally warped but with the added enticement of having mold on all surfaces. A swinging door led us into a spacious, amply lit room with deceptively comfortable-looking chairs. In the middle were a few groups sitting at round wooden tables exchanging tales or playing cards. Off to one side was a band of decent skill; across them, seated at a booth, was a group of merchants whose dustcloaks had their collars turned high just the way merchants liked it. A long wooden counter marked the bar. Seated at one of the few stools still intact was a man in a dark hooded cloak. Excellent, I could get a job here tomorrow.

She tugged at my sleeve then, and we made our way to one of the unoccupied booths a few meters away from the group of sullen merchants. The seat creaked ominously as I sat.

She raised her arm and waved at a waitress. “You should try the ribs,” she told me as soon as was satisfied with the waitress’ response.

“Right…” I mumbled.

The waitress reached our table.

“We’ll have a loaf of bread, two cups of your soup –whatever’s warm –a couple of baked potatoes and two roasted slabs.”

The waitress nodded after every item and when all was said, strode over to the counter.

“What is a roasted slab?” I asked.

“Huh?” She had an eyebrow cocked in a most ungraceful (but kind of cute) way. “The ribs.”

I felt my bile rise a hair’s breadth. I mean, really, what kind of place calls their ribs slabs? It’s absurd.

The orders came in the sequence they’d been rattled off. First was the rock-hard bread, followed swiftly by the warm but congealed soup, and then the baked potatoes (decent) and, lastly, the ribs (better than the term slab would imply)

“Not bad,” I said after a soft burp.

“See? Civilizations not all bad.”

I eyed her quizzically. “If this is an attempt to turn me into an upstanding citizen of the Monarchy you can consider this rendezvous over.”

She chuckled. “Not quite…”

I nodded, satisfied, and began picking some meat from my teeth.

“Eww, do that somewhere private,” she said.

I removed my hand from my mouth (I wear gloves while working, so I assure you my hands are quite sterile) and shrugged. “What’s next?” I asked.

“Drinks, I guess,” she shrugged back. “Sit down a while, though. Let the food settle or it’ll all come back out.”

I scoffed. “With enough drinks, it all comes out, anyway.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just relax, okay? Take it easy for a while.”

“If you insist,” I replied. “Believe it or not, however, I don’t get much spirits on the job. Well, not the bottled kind anyway. It’s one of the things I actually miss about civilization.”

She smiled, but said nothing.

It wasn’t that bad, actually. Despite the smell of burning grease and old oil frying, despite the out-of-tune flutist, despite the sag in my seat and the mystical substances squelching against my right foot, I actually felt… content. And, much to my surprise, it had nothing to do with the fact that I wasn’t spending my own money.

* * *

Around a quarter of an hour later, I found myself ambling down one of the sticky, squelchy streets of the town’s lakeside district. There was a pronounced difference in the architecture, layout and general state of repair between the residences in this area and the ones in the town proper.

The houses –ramshackle lean-tos built of steel slabs, rough wood and choice rocks –generally stood around six to seven feet wide and were rarely more than three yards by two. Of course, there were a lot of compounds where one lean-to leaned on another, giving them the illusion of greater size, but it was generally a depressing sight. I was tempted to ask “You live here?” but wisely, and tactfully, I kept my mouth shut. I wish I could have done likewise with my nose.

She’d insisted I spend the night with her, you see (not in that way) And although I did the gentlemanly thing to do and halfheartedly rejected her offer at first, she pressed the matter doggedly, however, and I objected no more.

It was the thumbs you see. As she had so eloquently put forth in the woods, I’d been carrying around a Sealed Sack™ of orc thumbs ever since I met her in the woods and for a few days before; they were for a sizeable bounty (I don’t have any particular interest in orc thumbs, and was looking forward to getting rid of them in the morning) Regretfully, even the most potent bag enchantments and preservative spices can only do so much against the ceaseless tide of rot. This being the case, we decided to skip the drinks part of our evening.

So imagine my elation. I was sober, and what had passed for my traveling companion was someone who refused to get within ten feet of me. And to think I saved her. Some people just don’t know how to repay a favor.

“It’s just across the marsh stretch,” she said. Her voice rang clearly in the hush of night, which was good since she was now around twenty feet away from me. “A few yards into the shallows.”

I tried to voice my inquiry in a refined manner. “You live in the freaking lake?”

She made that… that kind of scoffing noise girls do so well. Then she kept on walking. I followed; no way I wanted to be caught in this place for a night.

We approached a strip of dark ground that was a pleasant (judicious application of euphemism) mix of loam and sand. Grass sprung out in odd clumps, as did unhealthy-looking mallows and fen flies. The half-elf ignored these and made for a causeway that was only minimally sunken.

If you could ignore the little sensory details on the shore, you could actually get to like the place, though. On this particular night, the moon was shining brightly in the sky and upon the lakes surface; its somnolent light glazed every ripple and wave crest with a slightly different mix of silver and blue. The entire lake seemed to scintillate with the lunar romance.

* * *

The door creaked loudly as she pushed it open. She slipped off her shoes at the entrance before proceeding onto a slightly raised, wood-paneled floor. I made sure to likewise remove my footwear; I left my rancid pack outside, assuming no one would want to touch it anyway.

With shoes and pack both stowed at a safe distance, the natural scents of lake water and mildew freely entered my nostrils. It was surprisingly pleasant, but that might have been from the absence of the much fouler odors from just a few minutes back.

“Nice place,” I mused. I wasn’t being sarcastic, either; the house had a soothing effect one me like no tavern, inn or bath house ever had.

“Thanks,” she said. “Come on, the bath’s this way.”

“Didn’t we just cross it on the way here?” I jested. Hah, my razor wit…

She gave me a flat stare.

“Sheesh, don’t be so uptight,” I said. “It was a joke. Or do cities rob you of your humor besides your coin?”

She shook her head, but a small smile had appeared on her face. (Thanks to my killer wit)

“Just come on…”

The bath, as it turned out, was a surprisingly aesthetic affair for so small and simple a shack. It was one of those vintage baths heated by a kind of mini-furnace. It was also large enough to seat three people comfortably at the same time. A charming woodcut of a mountain landscape adorned the wall behind it.

“Give me your clothes once you’ve taken them off,” she said. “I’ll wash them for you.”

I nodded, and she slid the door until only an inch of space was left to let light sneak into the hallway beyond.

I pulled off my mailed (an overstatement, there were around eight rings left) hauberk, and then the boiled leather pads on my arms, and the leather faulds over my legs. My shirt –worn out, muddy and bloodstained –came off next, and then my pants. As always was the case when returning to a town, I beheld for the first time a pattern of bruises, scabs and discolorations in twice the number I might have guessed. The pale moonlight likely left a few unnoticed.

The lighting wasn’t the best, but it was enough. I pulled a rope dangling from the side of the bath, and water poured in from a tank likely kept somewhere in the eaves. It poured cold from a chute, but I could hear the crackling of the fire being stoked from outside.

I chose this time to slide the door open. Predictably, she wasn’t there, so I just dumped my clothes in a pile. I removed my undergarments, tossed them in as well, and hastily shut the door.

The bath had barely warmed, but it was tolerable, and I set about to washing my wounds.

* * *

There were towels by the side of the bath, and I took one as I stepped out. The air was cold, so I dried myself as quickly as I could, and then wrapped it around my waist. For good measure, I draped another around my shoulder; there were two left, so even if she decided to bathe, she’d have been fine, I figured.

Having shielded myself from the faint nighttime chill, I pulled the plug on the bath and listened a while as the water poured out into the lake beyond. I didn’t tarry too long, though.

* * *

I must admit she looked pretty in the moonlight. Alright, maybe beautiful; halfway to stunning, really. I guess elves really did have some connections to the moon, somehow. The silver aura and sterling halo that now adorned her silhouette were garments no human I’ve ever seen has had the privilege of wearing. Needless to say, I indulged in the sight a while.

She did notice me after a while, though, and she turned from where she sat on the porch, outlined by the lake, the moonlight and every reflection in between.

Even though I couldn’t see her face per se, I got this distinct feeling she was smiling.

“I left some clothes by the bath door,” she said. “You must’ve missed them.” Soft giggle.

I shrugged and went back the way I’d come.

* * *

I found the clothes, alright, tucked in a shadowed corner with possibly less moonlight than anywhere else in the house. Less, in fact, than the room that my eye must have caught only by the intervention of a particularly mischievous agent of fate.

To be quite clear, I can truly see no other explanation. The room’s door was as closed as anyone would have sanely wanted, with not more than a millimeter from door to frame. The moonlight shone only through a window at the far left, and I should have caught nothing more than a hair’s breadth of illumination. The air inside was perfectly still, and smelled exactly the same as the rest of the house. It was really quite unremarkable.

The cabinet stood out a bit, though.

It was about my height, and made of a dark wood that I’d seen on trees as big as watchtowers. It was fronted by a mostly smooth double door. The handles were the only irregularity upon their otherwise seamless surface. It wasn’t something that could impress at a distance, but up close you could tell that this cabinet was something special. Maybe it was enchanted; I don’t know.

Curiosity got the better of me. I placed my hands on the handles and gently, slowly pulled the door ajar.

Inside was something… interesting, to say the least. A burnished breastplate whose scars gave it a feel of resilience rather than damage stood propped on a stand. Linked to it was a pair of bronze epaulettes with a good number of scratches. Lain across the bottom of the partition were two gauntlets, slightly different from each other. In the lower partition was a pair of greaves and, lain diagonally across the back, a gleaming broadsword and a kukri wrapped in leather.

I stayed a while to admire the items before me. Beyond the initial shock and awe of discovering such equipment in the humble building, though, was of course the curiosity regarding their purpose. The girl hardly seemed to be a hunter or an explorer, and her ineptitude –assuming she wasn’t feigning –in combat proved as much.

“They belonged to my betrothed,” she said from behind me.

I turned around quickly, surprised.

Her expression was unreadable. Her eyes stared past me, her gaze resting upon the dimly-lit armor. She took a step forward, paused, and then walked to where I was standing.

She took the doors of the cabinet and gently swung them shut. She stood still a while, leaving me to sort of fidget there wondering if I’d seen something I shouldn’t have.

“Come on,” she whispered, “you should get some rest.”

I followed when she left, and we returned to the bedroom. She took her place by the porch once again and resumed her washing.

Her back to me, she said “Take the bed,” somehow perceiving my hesitation. “It’s alright.”

“Alright,” I voiced softly. I sat down on the edge, then slid myself under the thin linen sheets. I lay there, staring at nothing, for some time. It had been a while since I’d last slept on a proper bed, and although my aching, exhausted body agreed with its comfort, I just couldn’t get to sleep.

I decided there was nothing else for it; may as well have some conversation.

“Hey,” I said.

She replied with “Hm?”

“You’re not upset, are you?”

Silence for a moment. “Not with you.”

It was my turn for a bit of silence. “Then with whom?” …On second thought maybe I shouldn’t have asked that.

She gave a melancholy laugh, little more than a bittersweet exhale. “I don’t know. Who should I be upset with? It’s been five years and more and I still don’t know. Maybe with him. Maybe with me. Maybe I’m angry at the world or the beasts out there…”

“The beasts are a good start,” I said. “I’ve little love for them myself.”

“But would they have attacked him if he didn’t attack them?” There was an audible splash. “Why… Tell me, why did you choose the path you chose?”

I “hmm”ed and pretended to give it some thought. After some time, I answered.

“I saw the darker side of civilization. It had nothing to do with thugs in the streets or smugglers or thieves… I was born to a nobleman; I was his second son. Growing up under his wing… I’ve seen that the worst shit is at the top of the pile.”

“So you left?”

“I didn’t want to be a part of it. I would have left eventually… but I think my father noticed I was reluctant to do things his way. I was, ahem, sent to stay with my uncle. He was a game hunter, lives a week northwest of here. Anyway, I knew I wasn’t wanted, so I just kind of left. I sent a letter before leaving my uncle’s place then just took up the life of a wanderer.”

“You… didn’t plan on going back… ever?”

I sat up now. Turning to where she sat, I could still see naught but the silhouette of her back and her lunar aura.

“You mean, like, to my family? To the Courts of the Monarchy?” I asked. “I had no… I hated them. Except maybe… no; I’d wager he’s just like my father now…”

She shifted. She had stopped washing, I realized, and simply let the clothes soak.

“Not just them,” she said. “What about… your friends, or… or… I don’t know… wasn’t there anyone worth going back to?”

I was beginning to guess what she was driving at. (At least that’s what I thought; couldn’t confirm)

I laughed mirthlessly. “It’s kind of sad to say this… but no.”

She nodded slowly. “I see…”

“However…” I paused, and reconsidered for a while.

“What?” she asked.

“Well,” I continued, “I think it’s mainly that… isolation that set me out here anyway. Maybe if I’d had at least one person… who I cherished enough… maybe then I’d have stayed. Maybe I wouldn’t have run off into the woods and mountains. I just don’t know.

“I could’ve stayed and fought for justice, huh?” This wasn’t the first time it had occurred to me. “There are battles worth fighting… Battles in noisy auditoriums where suggestions clash with objections instead of swords against fangs. There are loftier goals for victory than my next ten meals… But why would I care about a society I deemed doomed?”

I left this question hanging. I hadn’t found an answer since I’d asked it half a dozen years ago.

“Could one person… really have made you stay?”

I shook my head though she couldn’t see. “I really don’t know.”

She was silent, and so was I. Now, though, I felt no inklings of sleep at all.

She turned sideways now, and the silver light brought out in her face the haunting beauty elves were known for, a beauty I’d not quite seen until now.

“So… Well, I guess it’s a repetition… but wasn’t- Isn’t it hard for you?”

I only half returned her gaze. “It’s easier than what I’d face back home. The contest of survival is more even a field than the web of intrigue and skullduggery I saw. The savagery of orcs and goblins is preferable to the hatred I saw in my own father’s eyes… You could say I made a tactical retreat… or you could just say I took the easy way out.”

I saw her head shift the slightest from side to side. “If your current life really is the easy way out, I couldn’t possibly blame you.”

I shrugged. She didn’t react.

“Listen,” I said.

Her ears twitched once, so I assumed she was listening.

“I’ve met a lot of people in my line of work who have ambitions far nobler than mine,” I said. “I’ve met people whose very presence could shake the wicked… I’ve seen people depart towns in groups ten strong, and watched men return broken and alone, only to take up their sword and shield again the next dawn. And… he would not have left you.”

“…Who?”

“Oh,” I said casually, “you know.”

“You’re right… I do know.” She sniffed. “But if I really do know, then why does hatred mix with my grief?”

She turned to face me, tears now adding silver streaks to her silver-outlined face. “If I really do know, then why does every cold, lonely night see me burning with anger?”

She drew her knees towards her chest, clasped her hands about them and buried her face.

“If… if I know… then why is it that I teem with envy every time I see a young couple holding hands, even when I knew his love would have driven him to die for me… a hundred times over…”

To that I could offer no reply. Thankfully, I don’t think she really expected one.

* * *

The night passed in a haze after that conversation. I recalled little as I awoke in the cold early light.

She was lying down beside me, the blankets drawn over her sinuous figure, her hair partially obscuring her face. Her breaths came in a steady rhythm. She was asleep; I wasn’t about to wake her.

I rather regret that I had to take the clothes she’d lent me the night before, but mine were still wet from washing and I was in a hurry; I just took my armor and strapped it right over the borrowed garments. Hopefully the money from the thumbs will be enough recompense for her.

Not taking a backwards glance, I departed over the partially sunken causeway, through the muddy portside, and down the main street.

The same hooded man was there, in the same tavern we’d dined at the night before. A few minutes of conversation got me my next job –finding a dragon whelp in the caves nearby and putting an end to it before it became too troublesome.

I walked out of the tavern with an empty stomach; I had no money left for more than three days’ worth of the basest of rations.

I was maybe fifty yards past the town’s gates when a light rain began to wash out the pale November sun. Coupled with the breezes you’ll find over any open plain, the weather halfway froze me in my rather thin clothes. I turned my collar up and dug my hands into my pockets. Something dry rubbed against my hand, and I pulled it out.

It was a parchment yellowed with age. The writing was blotched in some areas. All in all, it had a really old look to it. Nonetheless, I could still decipher the text.

I’ll be waiting, my love.

I shoved it back into my pocket and continued walking. I felt water that wasn’t rain slide down my cheeks. That’s the problem with going around in borrowed pants…