Fledgling Were Hatched
The world felt like a haze, but for some reason, each of my actions were as sure as the wind blew. I looked back at my job well finished, the heap of silk sheets and blood wouldn't be discovered until morning, in which case this poor kingdom would be freed of her tyrannical rule. I recall the sliver of a smile on my lips as I descended the tower wall, my weight supported by rope.
The next part, it always comes in a blur, as if I'm not supposed to see it.
My steps slowed as I drew near to our meeting place, and I could hear the clatter of metal on stone. I could feel myself stagger as I turned the corner, finding a scene I had never wished to see. Rylon'orr heaving the bodies of our friends, blood smearing his imposing form.
I could hear his rambles, of the money, the tricks, the lies. I felt sick as he spared me, and then... Then...
I jolt upright as the pitched ringing of harbor bells announce themselves, eyes darting across the space. Oh, yes, the boat.
Around me is a myriad of sounds and smells, the dank scent of the ocean at the forefront. Men and women busy about, dressed in shabby, salt-worn clothing, and tell me we’ve made it to land.
I heave myself to my feet with a groan, the wooden floor hadn't offered much for comfort, but a free ride didn't garner me much sympathy from the shipmen. As the days bright light reaches my eyes, I find myself having to squint towards the harbour. The city, from what I can tell, is rather dreary, with stone at the forefront of their construction. Cobblestone roads wind and lead up into houses of dark, wooden walls and shingled roofs, snow dusting their tops.
The cold is a welcomed familiarity, sucking in a breath brings a sting to my lungs that reminds of home.
Before I get too comfortable, a large hand is swatting me off the ship, causing me to stumble forward onto the dock. The source, a gruff looking man with a long beard and hard eyes, juts his cleft chin forwards.
"Get movin'." He grunts, leaving no room for debate, "This ain't a ferry, boy."
I don't make any attempt to argue, I came along for a reason, and it certainly wasn't to dally around on a boat I'm not quite welcome on. In truth, it's to start a new life.
Walking into the bustling port comes with a volume I hadn't anticipated, every step I take is stopped by a vendor intent selling me their fish, bread, shells, or whatever else they have.
I politely deny them, hands raising to dismiss the offers they shout. I'm with stark irritation when they realize I won't be a patron. Apparently, once they know they don't have to be nice, they don't make much of an effort to pretend to be.
It starts to feel endless, the pop-up tents a sea of fabric and voices, but I eventually find respite in a cobblestone path that meanders up towards the city proper. Thank the Gods.
I scoot through bodies and proceed up the road, the sound turning into a faint cacophony of humming, meshed voices. The quiet comforts me in this new land, and the frigid air ushers me onwards.
I reach into my pocket and run my fingers along the parchment folded neatly within, a favour demanded to the king... It makes my stomach twist to think about it, to use a... gift from Rylon'orr, but a head start into a new life is difficult to pass up.
Looking towards what must be the royal keep, I curl my fingers around the parchment.
My small journey leads me up a terribly steep hill, the keep seated with a view of the lands beyond. It's dark in colour, with blackened bricks that impose a stark contrast against the clouded sky. The nearer I draw, the more I fidget, and I can feel my feet beginning to hesitate. A cascade of snowflakes dust my shoulders as the gates come near to me, and I can't help but wonder if it's an ill omen.
The guards on either side of the towering, wooden gate eye me with what I can only presume is suspicion. Their chests are adorned in red and black, a checkered pattern upon their gambeson, somewhat obscured by breastplates whose metal is as dark as the stone walls just passed them.
I find my pace comes to a slow before them, to a full stop when they don't move. We seem to be having some sort of a staring contest, which probably goes on far too long, by the looks of their faces. Why are they not stopping me? One of the men- A half elven man with a ghostly complexion and fiery red hair- gives me a somewhat concerned smile, eyes widening slightly.
“You gonna... Head on in?” He asks, head jutting towards the gate. I must have looked perplexed, because he laughs at me. I don’t think he’s mocking me, but it’s hard to tell.
“Just... Like that?”
“Well... yes?” He snarks. He makes it sound like it should be obvious! Frankly, its one of the most insane things I’ve ever heard! Who, in their right mind would just open the gates like this?! A fool, surely.
I eye them with suspicion, and am met with confusion. It genuinely appears these two guards not only intend to let me in without qualm, but feel it's strange I am hesitant.
Eventually, I simply let out a sigh and allow my shoulders to slump, pushing on through the dark, wooden door.
Beyond the gate lies a long corridor, floored with a deep crimson carpet, and stone walls adorned with torches and paintings alike. They begin aged and worn, serious looking men and women staring out at me, but the further along I go, the more recent the paintings appear. At the last, my steps fall short, and I read the golden plaque below.
‘King Blaidd Eiriksson II’.
The man depicted, a human man and the newest of all the paintings, bares long hair of onyx curls that fall freely, coupled with a well trimmed beard of the same hue. His eyes are strikingly blue, sharp and young, with a hardness that could only be worn by those of the north.
This is the man I’m looking for, it seems, to beg for asylum in his kingdom. I begin to step away, to continue my search, and nearly walk right into a wall of a person. I stagger back a step, and my eyes raise up nearly a foot to see their face... I feel the blood rush out of my face, and the irony of this timing occurs to me.
“Admiring my mural?” Asks the very monarch depicted, though he looks older in real life than in his portrait.
My mouth tries to form a word, but I look more like a fish gasping for air than anyone who should be addressing a king.
Despite the icy colour of his eyes, there’s a particular warmth that brings me some ease. “No need to panic, boy, you’re not in any trouble.”
The blood rushes back with a vengeance, my cheeks begin to burn. “I- I know that,” I trip over my words, “I just did not... expect to find you so easily, your highness.
What I also didn’t expect was the booming laugh that erupts from the tall man before me, the hearty sound filling the corridor and echoing into the rest of the castle. I’m almost sure the upper floors can hear him, and it puts me on edge. Is this some sort of subtle call to his guards?
I think he notices my unease, because his jovial laughter stops short, and is replaced quickly with a seriousness that unnerves me.
“Look, kid, you don’t have to look like you’re on the verge of dying. These doors are open for a reason... In the metaphorical sense. It’s too cold to leave them open literally.”
I don’t relax, and so he continues on.
“This kingdom is old, and its history is... unkind to its people, but that changed with my father, Blaidd Eiriksson the First. He wrote in a policy that demands the King hear from his people whenever they choose it, he made it his- and now my- duty to care for the people of Mienhelm.” Blaidd makes a sweeping motion with his arms, towards me. “So, please, my dear subject, let me hear you.”
I study him, as he stands dramatically, awaiting my response. I can’t find any hint of distrust in this man, and I can’t help but take him as a fool.
“Oookay... Well, that’s the start. I’m not a people of Mienhelm, I just arrived here on-”
He cuts me off before I can continue, “- You are here, are you not?”
I give a small, hesitant nod.
“Then, you’re of my people, boy.”
“Right, well... I’m seeking asylum, here. I...” I falter, and struggle to find the words. My mind flickers with the memory of Rylon’orr, and my blood feels like it may freeze in my veins. “I am trying to get away from a bad past, far away.”
Blaidd regards me, he looks me up and down, and it makes me feel as though I'm shrinking. His towering form does nothing to help with this.
"What's your name, lad?"
"It's Fal'leon Fa-... Just Fal'leon."
"Right, well, Just Fal'leon," he smirks, "You're welcome to stay here in Mienhelm, but I'm not terribly sure you'll have a good time."
I frown, and bite the bait he's dangling. "Why not?"
"Because, you're an elf, and this kingdom... Like myself, is mostly humans. Not to say we do not welcome elves, but it would be a sorrowful life. You would make friends, watch them age, and die, while you remain youthful. I'm not saying you cannot- or should not- stay here, but it is something to consider."
I hear him, in what he's saying. I remember my parents telling me of old friends they had, humans whose lives only occupied a small part of their own. After the life I've left behind, I can't say I'm eager to have to watch friends die on me forever.
I fidget with the hem of my shirt, mulling it over.
"Where would I go?" I finally ask of the King, a meekness in my voice I don't recognize.
"How about this... There's a woman here, a soldier from another kingdom who's acting as an ambassador. I'll introduce the two've you, and you can talk to her about where she's from. And, if you decide to stay here, we shall welcome you with open arms."
This kindness is unfamiliar to me, and my mind begins to wander towards whatever it is he may claim I owe him, but I can’t detect any insincerity in the man's tone. Perhaps he really, truly is a kind king. And that terrifies me even more.
He seems to accept my silence as an answer, and I thank him in my mind for it. “Well then, for tonight, I will show you a small house you may stay in, and in the morning, I will send a Nordguard to escort you to that elven woman. Is this well for you, Fal’leon?”
I can only nod, words don’t seem befitting of thanks. I don’t think he expects anything more, anyway.
