Prologue
Aranor.
Aranor was Iorwen’s world.
Not physically, they were on the planet Zariwei.
Iorwen considered her world to be Aranor. Aranor had many people she said to be her world, but Iorwen only had Aranor.
She had grown up with Aranor. Her parents were friends growing up, so the kids inadvertently became friends. Their parents always hung out with each other, and they raised the two kids with each other. Iorwen never had siblings, so Aranor and her family were them.
Iorwen and Aranor were thought only to be friends. Aranor thought of it that way as well.
Their many trips through the gardens of their manors, where they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Their many weekends when they were inseparable. Iorwen loved Aranor. Aranor only thought of it as friends.
And it would forever stay that way.
One day, a rivaling elven country decided war against Kyrowin. Kyrowin was one of the most peaceful countries in the region, but Winshowvyn always tried to push the nerves of Kyrowin. They never called war until this day. The day Aranor was murdered.
Iorwen saw it all. They were outside the central city’s walls, out in a forest gathering fruits and mushrooms, when an arrow whizzes past Iorwen, straight into Aranor. She ran to Aranor’s body as she crumbled to the floor. The arrow went into Aranor’s ribs, possibly hitting her lungs or heart.
“Run Iorwen,” Aranor grumbled weakly.
“Gods damn it! I won’t leave you!” Iorwen whisper shouted.
“Leave me Iorwen, you don’t have time,” Aranor attempted to argue.
When Iorwen went back to town, she gathered who she could and they retrieved Aranor’s body. The arrow had Winshowvyn’s insignia burned into it, as well as residue from a poison left on the arrowhead.
This one cold-blooded murder of the country’s youth was enough to set off a war. Aranor was one hundred and five. And now Aranor will forever be one hundred and five. Iorwen continued to live. Iorwen lived for Aranor’s memory. Is it really living when you can’t leave your house, though? Iorwen barely lived, she survived, but living was not done when the war happened. She was a trained soldier like every other citizen of Kyrowin, but her parents forbade her from ever fighting. This was only allowed because of the close connection to the royal family. Iorwen nearly went insane from loneliness, with only her mother to speak to. Her father went out to fight, and that was the last they’d ever seen of him.
The war eventually ended with a ceasefire agreement. Nobody won, but Kyrowin certainly lost. They lost one of the princesses, Aranor. Iorwen mourned every day of her friend’s death and lit a candle for her every day.
Aranor never received a royal funeral. Aranor was quickly put to rest in the shrine of the dead and then war was set into action. Aranor received few to no visitors during the war, and then only Iorwen after the war. Iorwen was the only one who visited routinely. Aranor’s family and the citizens of Kyrowin visited sometimes, but never routinely. She was there for Aranor.
Iorwen was said to have died at the shrine for Aranor. Some tales say it was old age, some tales say it was suicide, some tales even say murder.
Aranor died for Iorwen. Iorwen died for Aranor. The tale is one that goes down in history no matter how you were told it.
Iorwen was said to never have had kids because her love of Aranor could never be triumphed by anyone, even a child of her own.
That is a lie. I knew my great-grandmother. She spoke of Aranor often, and rarely spoke of anyone else. I don’t know who my great-grandfather is. I remember the day she died vividly. She had gone to the shrine of the dead early in the morning and hadn’t returned by midday. I was sent to go check on her, as it was the anniversary of Aranor’s death. I walked into the shrine and couldn’t find her where she usually was, the designated spot for Aranor. I turned the corner and I found her lying there, dead. Her arms cut deep from shoulder to wrist, her blood staining the floor as she lay there, lifeless. The color had already drained from her face and no struggle was shown. I ran back home for my parents and we had gotten the city to help us with Iorwen’s funeral.
It was grand. We all remember the day her glass coffin was brought through the town. Her former beauty from her youth evident, as everybody seems to become young again post-mortem. I see why she was regarded as much of a princess as Aranor. The painting of Iorwen and Aranor was present at the funeral. It was a scene of them sitting down next to each other, laughing at something off in the distance. Iorwen’s hip-length, deep brown hair in a loose braid with flowers sticking out. Aranor’s just as long, black hair all sitting on her shoulder with curls puffing out in every direction. Their eyes depict the true joy of life before the war.
They had bassists, cellists, and harpists all play at her funeral. They started with solemn music, meaning to show the later years of Iorwen’s life. As the music continued it got happier and stayed that way. The music seemed to show her life in reverse. Everyone, especially the elders understood the music. They all smiled and cried, remembering Iorwen and Aranor.
The chief elder, who was Aranor’s youngest brother, cried the hardest of everyone there. He grew up in their footsteps and was just as distraught at both deaths as the parents were. This funeral was not just for Iorwen, but for her dearest friend Aranor as well.
If Aranor was still alive, she would be the chief elder.
The funeral came to a close as the sun was setting, and my mother wept one last time before we left. Iorwen had a daughter, a granddaughter, and even a great-granddaughter, whom she loved dearly. None more than Aranor.
Iorwen loved Aranor. Aranor loved Iorwen. They grew up together and will then be buried together. They will be reunited for all of eternity.
