Within the cottage
Pushed into the dwelling’s interior, Lurian felt his features soften as he was parked by the fire. Feeling a rare peace, he soaked in the homely atmosphere that was so different from that to which he had grown accustom. To him, this modest home was by no means a simple structure of mortar, thatch, and stone, but a haven, a sanctuary for his weary soul; its walls a shield against the biting chill of the outside world.
Nanna—demanding no hands remain idle—soon had them working at the hearth, and within but the turning of a glass, lunch blossomed into quite the feast; a feast whose bounty defied the room’s modest size.
Lurian couldn’t imagine the four of them finishing such a hearty spread. Bowls of crisp, garden-fresh salads sat alongside red and gold mounds of baked potatoes and sweet blood-carrots. And there, at the table’s center, was Melkie’s catch: a hearth-roasted fish, its meat all but flaking from the bone.
Nanna, as queen of her little kingdom, raised a cup in toast, and after a brief prayer to the faiths, they all dug in. The rich assortment of scents and flavors was a delight to the senses, and before they knew it, the once sizable spread was all but devoured.
Having eaten his fill, Lurian leaned back, closed his eyes, and allowed the warmth of the blazing hearth to seep deep into his aching bones. He just sat and listened. Melkie was deep into a story about the intricacies of his trade—the stubborn habits of certain woods and the exhausting dance of haggling with finicky merchants for his finer, more intricate works.
Meanwhile, Nanna’s voice was a steady, humming rhythm in the background as she updated Claire on the local gossip, her words weaving a tapestry of what life was like beneath the castle’s shadow...
He let their voices wash over him; their easy chatter, enough to seal shut the bleeding wounds scarring his spirit. It was a wondrous and needed departure from the grim reality that was his norm.
And for a few precious hours, the oppressive weight of existence was absent from his shoulders...
But as the afternoon waned, and the sun began its long, slow retreat into the jagged teeth of the western mountains, he felt a familiar knot of dread tighten in his chest.
For the day would soon expire, and with it, his reprieve...
The trip back was a quiet, muted affair. Claire seemed almost lost in reflection, as she mentally recharged after the hours of constant, joyous chatter. This chapter is updated first at novelping . com.
At first, he savored such silence, as he too needed time to adjust to the jarring shift. But as the fortress gates loomed closer, and his creeping dread grew greater, the silence had become something daunting; something with its own weight.
Lurian found he had to speak—or he’d soon suffocate under the mounting—weighty press of his return.
"We will have to make a trip out to see them again before I leave," he said, his words a fragile, desperate bid to hold onto the warm tether he’d just formed.
Claire chuckled, a soft, pleasant sound. "Yes, they were both so happy to see us. I could tell how much Nanna missed you by the way she constantly fussed about—treating you like you were but twelve." He could hear the grin in her voice. “Next time, we’ll have to raid the pantry before we visit. We can’t have them going hungry this winter just seeing us fed.”
“Ha, Nanna would sooner starve than accept our ‘charity’. Even if ultimately at the lord’s expense.”
She laughed. “True, true...”
For a moment, the music of Clair’s joy lightened his heavy mood—and he relaxed. But it was not to last, for as they approached the looming edifice that was their destination, a deep, bitter reluctance once more assailed him.
It would seem that his heart was not yet ready to return to the bleak prison that his only home in this world had become.
“Wait, Claire, hold here for a moment,” he said when they reached halfway up the rise.
Claire complied, halting her stride. Lurian just sat there, taking in the chilled, autumn air. Sitting there, his gaze traced the dark gray sapphire stone walls of the castle as it bathed in the warm, orange glow of the setting sun.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Claire said, sounding enchanted by the sight.
“Yeah, beautiful,” he echoed, his voice both flat and bitter. He was aware that Claire had misunderstood his desire to stop, thinking him admiring the view, and not dreading his own return to a life of bleakness and pain.
The small party watched on in silent awe as the orange glow faded with the slow dying of the day, only to be replaced with the light blue hue of the charged sapphire stone. Like a dream, it lacked the warmth of the day, but added an ethereal quality to the imposing structure.
They thought it beautiful...
But him? He thought it eerie; like some giant ghostly beast feigning slumber; it sat there—atop its perch, patiently waiting to swallow them whole. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
Suddenly, there was a shift, as his dormant pride made itself known. He, Lurian Ven’nirous, was not one to cower. As dreadfully unpleasant as his return might be, he would combat it as he would any other foe: on his feet; armed with the Will to go down bloodying the beast's nose.
With a deep fortifying breath, he cast off his blanket and marshaled all the strength he could manage, and—more through an effort of will than strength of body—he stood, catching both Claire and the idle guardsmen by surprise.
“Lurian?!” exclaimed a surprised Claire, rushing to support his still weakened frame.
“I’m fine, Claire,” he said. “Please, let me find my feet...”
Claire’s gaze searched his, and, sensing the gravity of the moment, she didn't press; she didn't coddle; she only nodded and drew back—giving him the space he needed.
Nodding his thanks, Lurian straightened and stared into the castle’s toothless maw.
And though his fear remained, it did not rule him, as he marched forward; each step brought him deeper, deeper into the belly of the slumbering beast—deeper into the home that inspired so much dread...