The morning of the next day...
Claire and Lurian—having just finished their morning meal, had overheard word that the lord’s guest was readying to depart. With little else to do, the pair made their way out onto the dirt of the upper bailey, most commonly used as a training field by the garrison’s soldiers.
Ignoring the autumn’s chill, Claire parked the blanket-wrapped Lurian atop the tall fortified retaining wall that spanned the gap between the keep and the Lord’s Tower, separating the upper and lower baileys. From the higher vantage, they looked over the crenellations out into the lower bailey where the lady’s carriage was being prepared for her departure.
It was not as grand a spectacle as she was expecting. With the manner in which the lord acted around the powerful fae—almost subservient—she thought there would be a little more fanfare to her departure.
But no, it ended up being a rather dull affair. Her accompanying servants packed her modest luggage, and with a polite kiss on the cheek—and a bow later—they entered the carriage and left...
The only thing of note was the odd glances the elf’na-fae’s serving maid shot Lurian’s way throughout the process. Claire could only guess it was a symptom of what he revealed that night, as that particular maid was present at her lady’s side.
It was the only explanation she could imagine, for she didn’t think the girl smitten after such a fleeting encounter. Sure, he was handsome, but not to such a supernatural degree that he would charm all he might meet.
Suddenly, “I never did learn her name,” Lurian murmured, half distracted in thought.
Claire, lost to her own thoughts, took a moment to reply; “I’m sorry, what did you say, Lurian?”
“I said I never did learn her name... In fact, I never really learnt anything about her, or why she would visit us out in such a remote region. Her words hinted at her being a high noble of a substantial rank, and given the immense power she displayed, she could well be a matriarch of one of the Twelve great lines...”
He frowned. “But I saw no crest or sigil on any of her belongings, which is odd... The lack of a large escort can be explained away by her own considerable power, but the lack of identifiable heraldry is very strange... and honestly, I don’t know what to make of it.”
Claire, knowing little of such things, could only offer a perfunctory response, agreeing it was strange and remaining quiet. She too was ruminating on their brief encounter with the departing guest, but her focus was not on her mysterious identity. But on the weight of the power she unleashed.
It inspired such fright and awe in her. Why—to wield such power at her fingertips. The freedom it would bring. The idea alone drew out no small envy from her; one who had known naught but the life of a humble maid; a maid all but confined to the castle’s walls. With it, she could be whoever she wanted to be, and—perhaps, then—she could be with whoever she desired...
The thought itself was intoxicating...
With the spark of ambition alight within her eyes, Claire swore to herself she would endeavor to one day wield such power—to achieve such freedom. Her eyes fell to Lurian. She wondered what he might think if he were privy to her more dangerous musings.
Burying such ambitions deep, she let out a long sigh; once more reprising her role as Lurian’s humble maid. “Where to now, my lord?” she asked. “Nanna’s for lunch, or back to the keep?”
“Are we expected?”
Claire nodded. “I sent word first thing this morning, so she will be expecting us some time today.”
“To Nanna’s then,” he answered. “I am in need of some fresh air, and there is little to be had here.”
“Of course, my lord.” She pondered, before adding: “I will inform Til'ven of our pending departure. I imagine he’ll want some guards accompanying us while we’re out.”
He nodded. “Thank you—Claire.”
She smiled, hearing the earnestness present in his tone... somehow knowing that there was more to that ‘thank you’ than his simple words might suggest.
She left in search of the steward, content for now in the knowledge that Lurian was there waiting upon her return.
‘This isn’t so bad,’ she thought, making for the keep...
Within the yard
Confined to his wheelchair, Lurian sat in contemplation as the morning cast its light down on his solitary form; its warmth offering a pleasant reprieve from the autumn’s chill. His gaze was cast out over the crenellations, his vacant eyes fixated on the bailey below, while his hand absentmindedly traced the contours of his left knee.
He could feel it, a faint phantom ache, constantly reminding him of that day’s costly defeat.
He had been left alone, a common occurrence since his injuries. It was as if the world was giving him time, time to breathe, time to think, and time to heal. Time, time, and more time... Enjoying the story?
All this time; all so he may return to those days of pain, sweat, and struggle. Back to training, back to preparing, preparing for a future still unknown to him; him, a man denied a say in his own destined fate.
Closing his eyes, Lurian forced the angry fire from his lungs. Having long accepted such a future, he would not allow such rage to rule him.
For he was, and would continue to be—better than that...
His bitter musings, however, were soon interrupted by the soft crunch of light steps. He turned, thinking it the return of Claire, but when he looked up, he caught sight of the vision that was the approaching Lora’lie.
She drew near; her sharp—almost black eyes—all but demanding the world match her rhythm. Lurian could not help but think her a striking sight, the type of beauty that would steal men’s breath in passing. It was in the sway of her hips, the way she moved; as if she wore a fine evening gown—and not the unflattering attire of a castle maid.
All but staring, Lurian noticed the knowing, playful smirk that often decorated her lips, notably absent as she tucked a chestnut lock behind a short, sharp ear.
“My lord, are you well?” she asked.
Momentarily bewildered by her beauty, it took a moment for him to reply: “Why—yes, I’m fine... Why?”
“Well... you looked rather pensive, or perhaps a little lost—when I caught sight of you in passing.”
Lurian was surprised by her genuine concern. He thought it odd. Though not entirely unfamiliar, having both grown up in and around the castle, he did not expect such honest consideration from the rather busy fae. She was a few years older and served as assistant to his maid Nanna through her teens—well before Claire fulfilled such duties.
‘Ah, that’s it,’ he thought. ‘She’d been there through the worst of it, and any soul who witnessed me suffer through those years is bound to have some sympathy for my plight.’
“My lord?” she asked, her words snapping him from his daze.
“Ah, my apologies, Lora’lie. I was just lost to my thoughts, whilst enjoying the morning’s quiet,” he said, offering her the brightest smile he could manage.
She smiled back; the beauty of it—stunning him for but a breath.
‘So bright; so much warm,’ he thought. But soon doubt crept in, causing him to chuckle, ‘No, she saw the lord’s grandson looking lost and alone only days after a public thrashing in the yard. She probably just worried I’ve been beset by confusion, after suffering too many blows to the head.’
Though obviously intrigued by his amusement, she didn’t ask. Instead, her gaze followed his, drifting to the horizon. “It is quiet here, a rare thing on a morning like this,” she said, her hands adjusting the sides of her puffy apron.
“Aye, it is rarely this peaceful... I have always felt at home in the quiet,” he offered, feeling strangely comfortable in the young elf’fae’s presence.
She drifted closer, gracefully taking a place at his side. “I’m surprised to hear you say that, given your usual... more vibrant company." She chuckled, her gaze noticeably drifting to the empty space at his side. “It’s rare to see you left unattended. She usually stands vigil, guarding you much like a wolf does her pups.” She chuckled.
Though amused by the comparison, he frowned; feeling the urge to jump to Claire’s defense. But even he knew there was a modicum of truth to her words. Though endearing, Claire had a habit of treating him as though he were made of glass.
“She means well. Even when injured, my days were once quite full, and she was just ensuring that I made it to all my lessons.” .
“True,” she conceded, “But you have time now, and her actions—no matter how well intended—do isolate you from the care of others.” She let out a light, delicate sigh. “My lord, we were once close—you and I, and I would like to see us return to how we were.”
His brows rose at her words, then fell into a frown. ‘Were they really that close?’ he wondered—thinking back. ‘I suppose we were... for a time. Honestly, those years are a bit of a blur...’
“It’s difficult, isn’t it?” she suddenly said, her gaze lost somewhere in the horizon, “To be confined here, when your spirit longs for freedom... Freedom from this place... Freedom from these people... And freedom from unwanted obligations...”
Lurian felt a surge of emotion well up at her near-whispered words, for he instantly understood her meaning, and for a moment, they seemed to share in each other's pain. Though he was ignorant of her plight, he could feel that all too familiar longing that existed within her.
A longing to be free of their respective cages...
Briefly, he wondered what obligations might bind one as bold as her. For her to speak in such a way, he imagined her dilemma likely anything but simple.
She reached up, playing with some pendant hidden in the depths of her thick blouse. “I’m not sure I believe that... At least, I don’t want to believe it...”
He looked up; his steely gray locking with her rich, bottomless brown. He could see it, that spark that once existed in his own; that eagerness to take up fate’s challenge, it burned bright within her eyes.
She, Lora’lie Ven’risil, was yet defeated by fate's winds.
Lowering his hand, he returned his gaze to the horizon. Feeling strangely comforted, knowing that one such as she would choose defiance in the face of an undesired fate. Though tempted to ask, he held his tongue. Instead, he returned his focus to the rare tranquility of the morning—as he basked in the sun's soothing warmth...
"Oh, my." Interrupted the syrupy sweet voice of the approaching Claire. "Lora'lie, a most unexpected pleasure to find you in this part of the bailey." As she drew near, her eyes narrowed in on the scene; her gaze suggesting much.
Lurian felt undeserving of such a gaze. In his mind, their interaction was naught but an innocent conversation between two peers.
For her to react in such a way... perhaps there’s more than a little truth to Lora’lie’s words.
Lora'lie seemed to feel it too, for she withdrew from Lurian's side; her smile hardening, becoming something insincere. "Claire,” she greeted, “We were just having a rather pleasant chat. I found the young lord looking rather forlorn, and seeing as how your duties kept you away, I thought he could use a little company."
Claire’s sourer gaze narrowed in on the older elf. "Why—Lora’lie, I think you’ll find that Lurian is a grown man well past the need for constant supervision, nor rescue from a moment's peace. Why, have you not duties of your own?” She stepped closer. “I ask, are you not needed in the scullery? Or perhaps the training yard? I’m sure it would please the men of the garrison to see you back in your leathers.”
With a polite smile, Lora’lie quickly countered, “On the contrary, Claire. I was merely seeing to Lurian. A duty some might consider more pressing than scrubbing pots...” Her gaze flickered meaningfully to Lurian, then back to Claire. “Of course, I wouldn’t dream of neglecting my duties. After all, not all of us grew up pampered under the indulgence of the castle’s steward.”
Both he and Claire frowned at the bitterness present in her words; Claire no doubt because of the slight, but him? He knew more, for he was not the only resident of this castle who had suffered the indifference of those that claim the title of grandfather.
Clair scoffed. “I was hardly pampered, Lora’lie.” As if done with the conversation, she returned her focus to Lurian. “Forgive her, Lurian. Her enthusiasm sometimes outweighs her discretion. Some are simply drawn to places where they believe themselves… needed. Or perhaps, merely seen..." Lurian frowned, both surprised and annoyed by her catty behavior. Though he had seen her jealous before, this, this was new. She was always so sweet... and he did not know what to make of her sudden change in character. What on Len’harna was happening to his once compassionate Claire? For a moment, he thought it might come to blows... But Lora’lie merely smiled, simply ignoring the not-so-subtle accusation hidden within Claire’s sharp words. "Well, I wouldn't want to keep you two from… whatever you have planned. Do take care, my lord,” she said, offering Lurian a shallow curtsy; her eyes all but shouting ‘I told you so’ as she rose.
Then, with practiced grace, the beautiful brown haired fae turned and sauntered off.
“Oh, and Claire,” she said, smiling over her shoulder. “Perhaps next time, make sure he’s not left so alone."
As she took her leave, the quiet of the bailey returned; the air heavy with the weight of unspoken tension.
“Come on—Lurian. We’ll go see Nanna...” she said. Somehow maintaining her simulated sweetness as she tightly gripped his wheelchair and pushed him forward...
“Ambition begins with a spark, but once alight, it comes alive—needing fuel for sustenance and growth. But be warned, for much like fire, ambition can all too quickly grow beyond its humble beginnings, and if not kept in check, it will break free, consuming all in its reach—including those that once fueled its flames...”
—A wise man’s warning to an overeager apprentice